


The Glade Airport Boys

by Tisaniere



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU where people's reaction to homeless kids is ridiculous, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orphan AU, alternative universe, bit of angst, grievers are people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 80,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisaniere/pseuds/Tisaniere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gladers are a group of orphans, runaways and misfits who live at the abandoned Glade Airport above the foggy town of Maze. They do their best to survive whilst avoiding being round up by the Grievers whose job it is to rid the town of Maze of them. </p><p>One night when under attack by a Griever, Newt stumbles across Thomas, injured and on the run. He becomes one of the Gladers as a newbie and Newt takes a shine to him. </p><p>But their new relationship and their whole way of life comes under threat when the town moves to get rid of the Gladers once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Newbie in town

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Newt/Thomas thingie I have been working on for a while. Basically it's the whole of Maze Runner transplanted into a current day universe (but one in a fictional town of Maze where everybody hates homeless kids - because let's face it we need the drama). Inspired by driving past an actual abandoned airport and thinking that would be a pretty cool place to make a home. Then thought of The Maze Runner, and how much I loved Newt/Thomas...and the rest fell into place!
> 
> Mostly based on film rather than book, though I have read it.

The fog was so thick that the far off slap of water and groan of the boats were the only things that indicated the harbour was there at all. A flutter of seagull cries spoke of the rough conditions out at sea but the harbour itself was still. There hadn’t been a breeze all day and nothing had stirred the grey gloom that had been there when the town first woke up, and would be there when the last person closed their eyes.

A blonde head, a speck of brightness in the fog, appeared cautiously around the corner of a building. In the day the place was a café for young mothers to drink coffee whilst their toddlers slept bundled up in their buggies. In the evening the orders for lattes and warmed up milk bottles were replaced with ones for tapas and glasses of wine. On a grim night like this it was only half full.

The blonde cocked his head to listen to the evening air. Slowly the rest of his body appeared around the corner. He was pale as a ghost in the gloom and almost blended into the rolling white fog. The boy was built like a paint brush, slim but strong, with an over-shirt hanging loosely on his form. It was off-white from frequent use and unbuttoned down his sternum to show a slash of collarbone. A bag with a wide leather strap secured over his shoulders was dangling at his side, and one of his hands was curled protectively over the strap. He paused for a moment longer to check the coast was clear.

With the determined movement of a predator he pushed away from the wall and crossed the alleyway onto the highroad. He left the cafe behind him and moved like a shadow across the shuttered front of the shops. At the end of the street he paused again and cupped his hands around his lips. The sound was a mixture of a shout and a whistle. It would have been innocuous enough if anyone had heard it: they would have assumed that it was a pigeon or a crow. Somewhere across the harbour a similar call echoed back at him. Another, much closer by, sounded off to his right.

He scaled a few more of the shop windows and met his fellow caller a few paces away. The pale boy appearing out of the fog seemed to take the responder by surprise.

“For shuck’s sake Newt, you’re like part of the fog.”

“Got anything yet Minho?”

The other boy nodded and turned his shoulder to release his own bag. Where Newt was all tall sharp angles, Minho was compact and strong. His black hair stood up from his skull like he took the time to make sure it wouldn’t get in his eyes. Minho’s bag was a short, compact square of leather strapped tightly between his shoulder blades. He opened up the top to let Newt peer in.

“Nice.”

“What you got?”

“Some garlic bread and vegetables from Frankie’s. Few bottles of water from the pier cafe, and a pack of cold chips.”

They were crouched low against the wall of a shop front and were almost completely hidden by the dark and the fog, but both kept an eye out on the street around them. The pair looked like deer at a watering hole, neither one of them trusting the fog they used to hide themselves in.

“Seen any of the others?”

“That was Ben’s call over there by the water. Saw him earlier, he got a load of packs of meat from the supermarket. One day past selling so good enough for us. But we’ve gotta be careful, Newt, he’s spotted two Grievers already.”

“This early?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Bloody hell.”

“We need to keep an eye out.”

A shutter flexed and clattered in the wind and both boys snapped their heads to the noise. They froze for a moment, assessed the situation, and relaxed.

“Well we’d better get on then.”

Newt watched as Minho checked up and down the street and sprinted away. Newt waited crouched in the dark until he stopped hearing Minho’s powerful footsteps in the gloom.

He raised himself to his full height and tightened the strap around his shoulders. He had no watch on him but these boys could guess the time accurate to the nearest ten minutes. It had to be pushing 11pm, and Frankie’s just down the road was coming to throwing out time. So would the pubs and the exclusive bars higher in town. Now was the time to be careful. Drunk people could be surprisingly quiet if they needed to be, and all they needed was someone stumbling across them picking things out of a bin or sneaking into a back door. Their yelling and arm waving would attract attention, police, Grievers, and that was something they had to avoid at all costs. So for the next few hours, until the people intent on a good night out were settled into the town’s nightclubs, Newt had to be even more on his guard.

He hit up a few houses next. They looked low and ramshackle but were part of the old town in Maze and therefore fetched a high price. People paid a lot of money to be within walking distance of the historic harbour. These people were also excellent food-wasters. Newt spent a good ten minutes in their waste and recycling bins finding food that had barely been touched. There was a lot more besides food to take - even a bag of clothes that someone hadn’t bothered to take to charity - but he daren’t stay too long to collect it. He was wily enough not to trip the security lights but if any of the residents spotted him it would be a tricky escape. The clothes would have to wait until there were a few more of them to drag them all the way home.

As Newt pushed back through the gate out of the inner courtyard a fox skittered past him. He took a moment to watch, with a smirk, as the fox trotted neatly to the bins and startled to rifle through for a meal of his own. They weren’t the only ones out hunting tonight.

Back on the street the fog seemed to be thickening, if that were possible. Newt checked the strap on his bag - old habits long enforced - and jogged on to the next place he could think of that would be good pickings. There was a burger place down here that was known for ordering, then throwing out, too many burger buns. He had one hand on their back gate when a high pitched whistle pierced through the fog.

He spun on his heel and waited, breath clenched painfully in his chest. The whistle again. High and panicked. It was their emergency call. Where was it from? Who was it from? He set off before he even really knew where he was going, plunging into the fog without a moment’s thought.

He wondered how many of them had heard it. It was close by so it had to be one of the guys working down here by the harbour. Was it Minho? Would the boys all the way up in the main part of town hear it too?

As he ran his hand automatically went to side, where a knife was tucked discreetly against his hip. He didn’t slide it out yet, knowing that to pull a knife on some unsuspecting people walking home was a sure way to bring trouble. He took a right then a left, and suddenly the whistle was replaced by a shout.

It was Ben.

“Help! Help! Newt, Minho!”

His voice was a mixture of panic and desperation, and Newt dug in deep to pick up the pace, flying back down the harbour front and taking the corner at full sprint. The road angled upwards in a splay of cobbles to a small square and there Ben was.

He was standing on the lip of the stone fountain with his knife at his side, crouched defensively. Across the square Minho had appeared and his knife was drawn too. It didn’t take long for Newt to see what was going on, but to understand it was a different matter.

A Griever van - the one thing that struck the most fear into the heart of Newt and his friends - was parked at one of the two side streets that led onto the square. Two Grievers, men who were identifiable as clear as day even in the fog by their black jumpsuits, were dragging an unconscious figure towards the back of their van. ‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ Two other Grievers were inching towards Ben, boxing him in against the fountain.

Minho spotted Newt across the square. He jabbed a finger to the figure being dragged towards the van. ‘You take him’.

Newt drew his knife and skipped around the stand-off at the fountain. He came up to the back of the van as one of the Grievers, oblivious to the ghost slipping towards him in the fog, was tapping something into the glowing screen of a tablet on his hand. The tick, tick, tick of their trackers was the only sound about the van.

“You got this one logged yet?”

“Yeah doing it now.”

“Give me a hand then, this kid’s a lump.”

Newt crouched low and took the lone Griever by surprise as he turned. He shouldered him in the solar plexus and knocked him back against the van, which sent his device skittering from his hand and smashing against the cobbles.

The Griever at the back of the van shouted, “What’s going on?”

But Newt had already come around the side and had his knife pressed against his neck, right where the soft jugular trembled under the knife’s edge.

“Let him go.”

The Griever had frozen at the touch of the knife, though Newt knew from experience he was ready to move if he felt the slightest moment of hesitation.

"You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Just do it."

Eventually he did as he was told and let the kid’s leg go. Who the hell was this kid? What the hell was he doing saving this guy from a Griever? The Grievers must think he was one of them, but Newt had never seen him before. 

Newt turned too late to check what the second Griever was doing. The man, taller than Newt by a good foot, shoved him from behind and Newt went down onto the cobblestones with an audible crack of his knees. He put his arms over his head automatically, expecting a blow, but none came. Newt swung with his knife in hand just as the first Griever launched at him with something clenched in his fist. A trembling needle protruded from his hand shone in the dark as it sailed down towards him. Newt’s arm connected with his at the wrist and he pushed up off the floor to drive his body forward. 

The Griever was thrown completely off balance and went to the floor with a hefty kick. The needle crunched against the cobblestones. Where was the other one? 

Newt reeled away to prepare for another attack, but the other Griever was a heap on the floor. The kid he hadn’t recognised - and had started to regret trying to save - was standing now. His face was covered with blood and his fist was half stretched out. He looked down at his clenched fingers like he had no idea what they had just done. 

“Bloody hell,” Newt said. He coughed and spat blood from the cut in his lip onto the floor. The other boy looked at him, eyes wide and panicked, and for a moment they stood there staring at one another. 

The moment was broken by Minho roaring, “Newt, come on!” 

Then hands were on them and Minho was dragging him away, Ben on his heels. At the last minute Newt thought to turn and grab the shell shocked boy he had just saved. The four of them sprinted away from the Grievers at full pelt. They didn’t stop until they were high up in the town, almost to the road home. Minho finally brought their little group to a halt by the edge of a darkened park. The only sound in the air was their ragged breaths and dry panting. 

Ben bent double and wretched dryly. 

“What was that?”  Newt finally gasped out. He had let go of the new boy as they ran and the kid was now sat heavily on the floor with his hands on his head. 

Ben spat onto the tarmac and straightened up, “They jumped me. I was crossing the square and the four Grievers just drove up behind me. I thought I was done for. Then he-” he pointed a finger at the new boy, “Appeared. Just ran straight into the square, saw us and passed out. The Grievers must have thought they hit the jackpot. They split up and went for us. Man, I thought that was shuckin’ it.” 

“Well it wasn’t,” Minho said, slapping a hand down on Ben’s shoulder, “They didn’t get any of us.” 

“We should warn the others,” Newt said, happy to feel some of the oxygen flooding back into his system. The adrenaline was starting to die but he felt jumpy still and tingled numbly from head to foot. 

“Don’t think anyone else was down there,” Ben said with a shake of the head, “Most of them are up here working the houses. Just us three down at the harbour.” 

Newt was the only one that finally noticed their new friend was passed out on the tarmac at his feet. He bent down to inspect the impressive gash on the side of his head and peered through the dark to check him over. 

“Think he’s like us?” 

“Don’t know. But the Grievers seemed to think he was.” 

“And they’re rarely wrong.” 

“We should get him back. He’s bleeding all over the place. Give me a hand.” 

“Great. Another mouth to feed.” 

“We’ll manage. We always do. Now come on, grab his legs.”


	2. The Glade Airport

It took them twice as long as it would do normally to get home. The road they took out of town seemed unnaturally steep and endless as they trudged with the body of the boy between them. It didn’t help that he was tall and gangly, although Newt noted the hard planes of muscle under his hand as he grabbed his shoulders. He was a lump alright, but a lump who didn’t have much fat on him. 

“We nearly there?”

“We’d better bloody be.”

The Grievers would never follow them this far out of town, though they were still careful to make their way as softly as possible. Once they were well away from the lights of Maze they started to groan and gasp and swear as loudly as they wanted. 

“This shank weighs a tonne.”

“He’s a dead weight.”

“If he’s dead when we get there after all this carrying, I’m going to kill him.”

Finally the glorious sight of home came into view. The Glade Airport, long abandoned by any airlines or passengers, started to form a solid shape through the fog. By the time they reached what was once the taxi rank a small party was waiting for them. 

Newt hissed in pain from his wrenched arms as they lay the new boy down as gently as possible onto the tarmac. Alby watched them them, arms folded, his black skin turned orange under a glaring security light. He looked the newbie up and down. 

“I know we say we like some meat to eat, but this is taking it to a whole new level.”

Newt swiped away the blood pouring from his lip with the back of his hand and didn’t laugh, “Grievers nearly got him and Ben.”

“If it wasn’t for Minho and Newt-”

“And him,” Newt added, pointing to the unconscious figure on the floor, “I was about to lose in a fight with two of them and he knocked one out cold.”

“Then what happened?”

“He passed out cold himself, didn’t he?”

Alby crouched down by the unconscious boy and took a look at the bruises and scars that Newt had evaluated himself. 

“We’d best get him in and get him seen to. We’re sure he’s one of us?"

“Got to be. The Grievers were about to load him into the back of the van, and if they thought he was just some Maze town kid passed out after a night out they wouldn’t even dare try.”

“Is he a newbie?” a high voice asked, and a wide moon face squeezed itself between the bodies clustered around them. It was Chuck, the last newbie to come to the Glade. 

“Looks like it.”

“So I’m not the newest greenie any more?”

Newt allowed himself to smile at that, “Seems that way Chuck. You’ve just been promoted.”

The chubby boy clenched his fist in victory, “Score.”

“Come on then, let’s get him inside. Ben and Newt, get yourselves checked out too. Then hand in what you got and get some rest. You’ve had a tough night.”

“You’re telling me,” Minho grunted under his breath as they heaved the boy back up off the floor. There were more hands to help this time and eventually they let him be taken off completely by fresher bodies. 

Alby put a hand on Newt’s arm. 

“You alright Newt?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Apart from the blinding pain in his head from the fight, and the sting in his kneecaps. 

“There were four of them?”

Newt nodded grimly, “I thought we’d have a few more hours before they came out in numbers but there they were.”

“Getting earlier and earlier. They’re changing the way they do things.”

“Maybe.”

Alby let go of his arm and Newt swung away to the doors - once automatic but now jammed with only a partial opening - to find some water, drop off the night’s winnings, and get some rest. He left Alby out in the fog to wait for the rest of the runners to come back from town. 

 

* * *

 

Glade Airport was one of the biggest fuck-ups in the region’s history. A local entrepreneur - who had more money than sense, as these sorts of people tended to - decided that he wanted to build an airport ‘for the community’ of Maze. He had chosen a small strip of land that overlooked the town as his spot to build. According to the ye olde maps he’d found in the town hall it was called ‘Glade’, though no-one had called it anything much for years.  

Four years and a hell of a lot of dollars later the airport stood abandoned. The money had been there to build it but no-one - not even small charter airlines - wanted to operate out of it. 

There were check-in desks, luggage carousels, a departure lounge, desks for the gates (which were numbered 1 through 10), kiosks for passengers to buy water, sweets and a magazine, even a security area for their bags to be checked. Elasticated belt barriers even stood in tight formation to keep non-existent queues in order. Wide glass fronted panels looked out onto a runway that had never felt the rubber squeal of a plane tyre. A lonely air traffic control tower was now swamped with the ivy that had forced its way up through the runway tarmac. It looked like Rapunzel’s tower, the boys said, although none of them ever dared climb it to see if a maiden with long blonde hair was hidden in its domed glass summit: it was already starting to subside towards the ground. 

But its builder had overlooked a few small factors when it came to The Glade Airport. 

One: its position. Maze was connected to the harbour, and Mazers would take boats to the point and then trains from there all over the country. Mazers weren’t an adventurous bunch: a quick weekend jaunt to the state capital suited them just fine. Planes were rarely, if ever, needed. If any of them did need to fly out to visit family or friends further afield they chose the spotless, safety conscious airport an hour or so away. 

Two: the fog. The town of Maze was almost permanently fog bound. Even if airlines had been convinced that the local residents would soon want to start flying off on their holidays from their new airport the fog would have made them balk. It was thick, impenetrable, and existed for ten out of twelve months of the year on an almost daily basis. 

Eventually the airport went bust waiting for business that never came. The town of Maze had turned their backs on the only new thing to come to town since the opening of a shopping mall. 

 

Three years after its supposed open date The Glade Airport was home to around twenty boys in their teens. The Gladers, they called themselves. The name and their efforts to survive together gave them a bond that they needed when the cold fog rolled in and they went to bed hungry for another night. All they had was one another. Their bonds to home broken either by accident or by force. They were runaways, orphans, kids who had found themselves out in the cold. Together they formed a group who looked after one another, ate together and worked for the good of them the group. Every night a small group of runners - the fastest, strongest and the ones that knew the town like the back of their hand - went into the town of Maze to find food. Some of it could be stored for later, some of it was fresh to eat then and there. 

There was one rule they had to stick to. No matter how good the pickings, they had to make it back before sunrise and the town of Maze woke up. 

Maze did not like the boys from the Glade. There were posters up around town to help residents identify them. Local TV adverts showed Mazers how to make sure their back doors and lower windows were locked so that thieving Gladers couldn’t slip into through their back doors and into their kitchens. Companies bought extra sturdy bins with extra sturdy locks so that their rubbish couldn’t be rifled through. If seen about town the Gladers were to be reported on sight; though not approached, as the town council were convinced they would spread disease. 

They saw the boys as vermin, not as children, and the local mayor had commissioned a small group of special officers to patrol the streets at night to round them up. The boys called them the Grievers. 

It was a hyped-up hysteria that had existed for years, and the boys who had been there longest knew just how dangerous it was for them in Maze. 

* * *

 

Newt was thinking about the new greenie and the close scrape with the Grievers as he washed his face of blood, sweat and mud. It had been a close call, closer than Newt had had for a while. His heart was only just starting to settle back into a proper rhythm. If any of them had been caught….

He didn’t want to think about it. 

Newt bent down and rolled up his trouser legs to inspect his knees. Two bruises were blossoming over his kneecaps and had turned the skin a deep purple. Not much he could about those. He poked tentatively at the cut on his lip but it seemed to have stopped bleeding on its own. The only thing he needed checking was his wrist, a cut on which was deep enough to need stitches. 

He found Jeff at the back of the building, in a quiet dark spot where there were two hammocks reserved for the injured. Jeff made him sit on one as he stitched up the wound, and the newbie was stretched out on the other. 

“Know his name?” Jeff asked, catching Newt looking at the boy. His features were well defined but soft, dark eyelashes resting on cheeks that looked hollowed from hunger. A few moles and freckles were scattered across his jawline and neck, where the skin shone with sweat. He didn’t look older than any of them here, probably about his age. 

'It's a nice face' Newt thought. Then swallowed heavily. 'What the hell does 'nice face' mean? Did I get hit that hard on the head?'

“No. How’s he doing?”

“He’ll live. Got a load of cuts and bruises and probably a few broken ribs.”

“Then why isn’t he awake?”

“Exhaustion, I guess. Maybe he knocked his head when it got cut. Don’t think he’s got a concussion so I’m going to leave him to do his thing.”

Newt nodded, then winced and hissed through his teeth as Jeff finished off the stitches. 

“Sorry, Newt. Here, drink some of that.”

Newt flipped the bottle proffered to him to read the label. 

“Whisky? Really?”

“Hey, I’m the one everyone asked to be doctor. Listen to the doctor’s rules. Alcohol is good for you.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be rubbed on a wound?”

“Well I haven’t got painkillers so this is as close as you’ll get.”

New took a swig and pulled a face. He didn’t like whisky at all. Jeff took it back and hid it away. 

“Let me know when he wakes up, ok?”

“Sure thing, Newt. Now go and get some rest.”

 

Newt did as he was told and shuffled to bed, too tired even to seek out some food. He stripped off his boots and lay down gratefully on his hammock, the gentle rocking motion soothing enough to make him go to sleep almost immediately. He was stopped just at the moment of dropping off by a deep voice up above him. 

“Alby said to give you this.”

Newt cracked open an eye. Even in the dark he knew who it was. 

“I’m not hungry, Gally. You have it.”

Gally shrugged and bit into a cold chip from the cone Newt had salvaged from a bin. 

“Ben said you saved his ass back there.”

“I think we all saved each others.”

“There were four Grievers?”

“Yeah. Four of them.”

Gally screwed his mouth up in a scowl, “We’ve gotta be more careful.”

“Tryin’ our best, Gally.”

“What was the newbie like? Will he good here or just a pain in the ass?”

“Everyone is good here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well he knocked out a Griever. So there’s that. Between the running away and the fighting off Grievers we didn’t really have time to chat about his strengths and weaknesses.”

Gally grunted and turned to leave. 

Newt was asleep before the sound of Gally’s footsteps heading back outside disappeared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback would be lovely!


	3. Sleeping Beauty...Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas wakes up in The Glade but has a hard time staying conscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for the lovely kudos and comments folks. It makes my day. I'm sorry that this is going to be a slow burn but I am terrible at getting things done quickly!! But it will start to quicken up soon, I promise *looks hopeful*

If a passenger - deluded into thinking that the airport was functional - had wandered into the departures lounge at The Glade Airport they would have seen just what thirty or so boys living together could do to make the place their home.

Hammocks were strung up in the departure area and the glass frontage onto the tarmac was covered by sheets of plywood and cardboard to keep out the light. When the boys weren’t dangling in their hammocks they were back at the check-in desk area clustered in groups. Some fighting, others playing games, telling stories or trading one possession for another.

This imaginary passenger would have found the toilets and even a few of the showers intended for tired travellers were semi-functioning, flushed by rainwater collected in butts on the roof. Out on the grass they would have seen boys racing one another along the runway. There was a fire put dug into the soft turf in front of where the planes would have parked to receive or disgorge passengers, and it was kept going all day and night. It helped to chase away some of the cold from the fog and allowed any raw food to be cooked in the dented pots and pants that dangled from spits, all juggled by a boy with dark skin who flapped around in an old chefs apron and shouted commands to younger boys.

It was as close to home as any of them had. It was a delicate ecosystem that depended on cooperation, respect and sharing. And although the invisible line of territories within the departure lounge were there - amongst the hammocks and piles of carefully curated possessions - the enduring philosophy was one of togetherness and equality. It had to be. Those who had been there at the very beginning knew what happened when boys pitted themselves against one another in an attempt to become the strongest, the hardest, the one with the most to flash.

 

When Newt woke the next morning the sounds around him were as familiar as his own body. The light slid through cracks in the coverings over the glass and fell over his face and eyes. He turned his head with a soft groan and buried it into the material of his hammock. There was a clashing of pots and pans outside as some of the younger boys, Frypan’s assistant cooks, made breakfast ready for anyone who wanted it. Around Newt many of the others were still sleeping. He could hear the distinctive sounds of Gally’s snoring and of Minho’s sleep-mumbling. No doubt Alby was up and about already: that boy rarely slept.

Newt lay there for a while longer with his eyes open, staring out over the sea of hammocks and sleeping bodies in the semi-dark of their little sleeping area.

It was only until he tried to roll out of his hammock that he remembered the night before. He couldn’t stop the moan slipping out as his fragile, bruised knees complained at the motion. His head was pounding. There was dried blood on his hands from where a bit of blood had leaked from the stitched gash.

“You look like klunk,” the person in the hammock next to him croaked.

“Yeah thanks, Frypan.”

Newt pulled on his boots and shuffled to the small area Jeff and Clint worked out of. Only Clint was there that morning, keeping an eye on the newbie.

“Oh hey Newt.”

“Hey Clint. How’s he doing?”

“Not changed much. Listen, I’m starving, and Jeff’s sleeping, so…”

Newt gave him a nod and a smile, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll watch greenie for you for a bit.”

“Thanks Newt.”

Newt settled himself down on one of the trunks filled with supplies the boys had collected over the years. There were plasters, bandages, iodine spray, anything they had managed to beg, borrow or steal that could help patch them back up. Newt was wondering whether 9 in the morning was too early to find Jeff’s whisky supply when the newbie coughed in his hammock.

Slowly but surely the boy woke up. His throat was too dry to speak and Newt helped him drink some water out of the one of the tin cups.

“Oh shit,” he coughed, wiping water from his chin.

“Hey greenie. How you feelin’?”

The boy peered up at him, struggling with the soft light that escaped into the room.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the Glade. The Glade Airport to be precise. Remember last night?”

The boy looked down at his body stretched out on the hammock. His fingers traced bruises and aches as he thought.

“I…I think so.”

“We were looking for food in town and, well, we found you.”

“Me?”

“You were about to be stuck in the back of a van. Remember that?”

“I remember punching someone. Did I punch someone?”

His eyes appeared to be adjusting and he had noticed the bruise on Newt’s mouth.

“Wait, did I…?”

“Punch me? No, this wasn’t you. You punched the right guy, don’t worry about it.”

The boy looked completely lost, and though Newt knew he was a pretty tough guy going by what he had seen of him so far. he also knew how overwhelmed he was feeling.

“So come on then newbie, what’s your name?” he asked, gently moving a few things off the glass panels to let in some light.

“Thomas.”

Newt went back to the side of the hammock and held out a hand, “Nice to meet you Thomas. I’m Newt.”

Thomas shook it.

“Hey.”

Newt helped him into a sitting position with his legs dangling off the hammock.

“So what were you doing in Maze, Tommy?”

The kid had lovely brown eyes, Newt thought, that crinkled at the edges at the sound of ‘Tommy’. Shit, maybe he was still suffering from yesterday’s head injury if he was thinking stupid things like that.

“Uh,” Thomas scratched at the back of his head, feeling the slowly knitting cut gently with his fingertips, “I was running away, I guess.”

He looked up at Newt as though expecting him to laugh or seem surprised, but Newt had heard it all before.

“Who from?”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders, “Everything. Family, my life, everything. I just ran and ran and ended up here in Maze. I didn’t even know this town until today. Then I was wandering around the town trying to find a place to sleep and some guy in a black jumpsuit came out of nowhere and tried to grab me.”

“A Griever.”

“A what?”

“A Griever. That’s what we call them. They’re supposed to round us up. They don’t like homeless kids runnin' around Maze.”

“What do they do if they get us?”

“Send you back to where you came from, if you’re lucky. If you’re not then you get sent off. Hospitals, institutions, the sorts of places you go into and don’t come out of. It’s not pretty greenie. Keep away from Grievers.”

“I don’t intend to meet any of them again. I managed to get away from this one and I was running and then…I don’t even remember. I punched another one, I think. Where did you guys come in?”

“One of us, Ben, was being cornered by a couple of Grievers. He said you turned up and passed out right in front of them. By the time we got there they were trying to put you in a back of a van.”

“Why did you save me?” Thomas asked, voice almost a whisper. He looked up at Newt with big brown eyes and it took Newt a minute to collect his thoughts and string a sentence together.

“Like I said Tommy, kids who get taken away by the Grievers don’t go anywhere nice. They thought you were one of us so they tried to grab you. We thought you must be one of us so we saved you.”

Thomas looked pale all of a sudden, and clammy. Newt knew the signs. He looked around him and came up with a tin bowl that had bloody water in. He sloshed it out into a bucket and got it in place just in time for Thomas to vomit everything in his stomach.

Which wasn’t much Newt thought as he peered down at him with his nose wrinkled.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Newt found him some water and emptied the vomit into the waste bucket.

“Don’t mention it. Need me to get you something to eat?”

“I think so. But can I come with you? I just…I just don’t want to sit here by myself any more.”

Newt could understand that. He helped the boy to his feet and kept close to him as they walked slowly - which was the only speed Thomas could manage - out of the small medical area.

“So this is an old airport?” Thomas asked, amazement in his voice as he turned his head this way and that. They passed the sleeping area where the dark shapes in the hammocks  were generating small cloud of snores and deep breathing.

“Not even old. They were supposed to open it three years ago and it never did. It’s never been used.”

“It’s amazing.”

“It’s our home.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Thirty or so now. Used to be a lot less but kids keep arriving. We haven’t had a newbie in a while though.”

Thomas didn’t seem to notice that he was barefoot when he followed Newt outside. He stood for a moment, still sickly pale and swaying slightly on the spot and stared out onto the runway. Far off in the distance some of the kids were whooping and cheering at something. The whole area was ringed by tall security fencing and the grass was growing wild and unkempt. A group of seagulls squabbled loudly on the air traffic control tower.

“This is…”

“Big, isn’t it? We barely use half of it. Got some plots over there for growing things, there are two kids here who grew up on farms and they keep whatever we can get alive. We get some fruit and vegetables, but not much. There’s a reservoir of water underground over there. It was there for the fire engines, but we use it to wash our clothes and stuff we cook with. Rest of it is just weeds and a place to chill out.”

The small group by the fire had stopped with their clattering and cooking to watch the pair.

“Hey Newt,” Chuck eventually called out from where he was washing a pan. Chuck was always first if there was food around, although Frypan said he was too useless of a cook to be one of his little chefs.

“Hey Chuck.”

Newt gestured for Thomas to follow him to the fire pit.

“Guys this is Thomas. The greenie from last night.”

They all nodded and said hey.

“We got anything for him to eat?”

“We were just toasting some flat breads. And do you want some tea?”

Thomas paused, still staring out at the runways stretching out ahead of them.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Newt pulled Thomas down onto an upturned packing crate that the boys used for seating.

“Sit down before you fall down. Hey Chuck, think there are any shoes in your bags of clothes for Tommy?”

“I’ll have a look. What size?”

Thomas blinked back at them stupidly.

“He’s probably a size or so bigger than me, Chuck. Just grab anything you got.”

“Sure thing.”

“You guys have spare clothes?” Thomas asked as the chubby boy ran off back into the airport.

“We collect any we can find, or steal if we are desperate. We put them all together and then draw from them if we need to. Chuck oversees it.”

“My shoes are back inside-”

“And they look awful. If Chuck finds you some then you might be lucky enough not to have to put them back on.”

One of the kids at the fire pushed a plate onto Thomas’ lap and placed a steaming mug by his feet.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Newt took a flatbread for himself, but he had barely taken a bite before Thomas had inhaled his completely.

“Are you a bloody animal or something?”

“I haven’t eaten in a while,” Thomas admitted sheepishly. His stomach growled to confirm it and Thomas flushed bright red. Newt chuckled and tore his flatbread in half. He handed the slightly larger piece to Thomas.

“Then take the rest of that.”

“No, I couldn’t-”

“Don’t be a shank. Take it.”

Thomas ate and drank in silence, eyes wandering every now and then out to the runways and overgrown grass beyond. The fog had cleared a little off the ground today but it still hung ominously at the height of the fence. The sun was a sad yellow tinge to the low cloud and Newt doubted it would last long. 

Gally was the first of the older boys to trudge out to the fire pit. He had his boots half laced up and only one eye really open. He looked Thomas up and down.

“You guys pick up a ghost last night?”

“Gally this is Thomas. Thomas this is Gally. Gally’s in charge of anything that needs building or digging around here. And he’s as close as we got to a plumber or an electrician. Gally, we need a new hammock for Tommy here.”

Gally crouched down by the fire pit and helped himself to a flat bread. He didn’t bother with a plate.

“‘Fraid I can’t add another one.”

“What?”

“We haven’t got enough wall or ceiling space in our sleeping area. Keep telling Alby we need to move them out to another part of the airport but he won’t listen.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

Gally shrugged his huge shoulders. He was a thickset kid who certainly looked like he knew how to use his hands. He was wearing long shorts despite the cold of the fog and his red-brown shirt was tighter on his frame than Newt’s was on his. He ran a hand over his spiky hair which cropped close to his skull, and scratched at his ear, “Only thing you can do is take down someone’s hammock and add in a double.”

Newt nodded, thinking, “Mine’s a folded up double anyway. We can pull that out today.”

Gally smirked, “Been here one night and you’re already inviting him into your bed hey Newt?”

Newt flipped him the middle finger. Thomas looked like he hadn’t quite understood the conversation but Newt waved his questions away and promised to explain later. He sourced another flatbread for the boy and made sure he kept eating.

Alby was the next to appear at the fire side, though not half asleep like the rest of them. He looked like he had been up all night. Newt wondered if he had even gone to bed.

“How are you doing greenie?”

He went over to shake Thomas’ hand, “Name’s Alby.”

“Thomas.”

Alby glanced down at Newt. They had known each other long enough to be able to communicate pretty well with no words. ‘He ok?’ Newt nodded back at him.

Chuck re-emerged with a pair of raggedy baseball shoes. Thomas held the mud-caked, damp-smelling pair in his hands. Gally was laughing by the fire.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Maybe you should put your old ones back on,” Newt said, not able to stop the laughter himself.

 

After eating as much food the boys could offer him Thomas was looking to look slightly less pale. Newt bundled him off with his towel for a shower and left him to it. Newt had tasks to be getting on with: it was his turn to give the plants a soak. 

Working with their garden was one of his favourite jobs, if he had to pick one. He helped out with everything he could around The Glade but this was what he enjoyed the most. Newt was seen as second-in-command under Alby, though he would never say it himself, but he did help to keep an eye on everything and everyone around here. He knew the changing seasons and the cruel whims of people in Maze, so he was a font of knowledge for most of the boys, just like Alby was always the one he went to with a question. Alby had been here the longest and no-one doubted his wisdom, but Newt was the one they looked to to back it up

Any day of the week Newt could be working on their tiny garden, or helping to clear up the trash, fixing things with Gally, making an inventory of the food they had with Frypan, or out on runs into the Maze. It kept him busy and that was the one thing hated: to not be doing something.

“Newt! Oi, Newt!”

He turned, a basket of dead fruit he had been collecting in his hands. Gally was standing by the back door waving an arm, “Your boyfriend’s passed out again!”

 


	4. Hammock-style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt uses his hammock as an excuse to get close to the newbie, and Thomas can't help but feel he has made a fool of himself.

They heaved Thomas, still wet with only Newt’s towel wrapped around his waist for modesty, onto Newt’s hammock. It was closer than the medical bay plus Jeff and Clint had disappeared for their breakfast.

“He’s got a delicate constitution this one,” Gally said, dropping Thomas’s leg - very indelicately - onto the hammock.

“Leave it out, Gally. We don’t know what’s happened to him.”

“Did he say anything to you, Newt?”

“Just that he was running away.”

“Probably just exhausted. Let’s let him sleep.”

With that the others moved away, leaving Newt standing over the greenie as he dripped onto his hammock. With a sigh Newt went to find another towel, one that looked roughly clean, and started to dry Thomas off. Letting a guy sleep whilst dripping wet was a sure way to bring on a cold. Plus he was getting Newt’s hammock all wet.

He knelt down at the side of his hammock and did his best to rub any of the excess water off Thomas’s skin. The boy was more well-built than Newt had expected. When he was back to full health he’d be a good addition to the runners. His body was lean and strong under Newt’s hands, but there were dips where bones showed as though hollowed out by hunger. How long had this guy been running away and not eating?

Deciding it was best not to stare too long Newt stood and started to try and gently rub as much of the water out of his hair as possible. Thomas kept on sleeping, oblivious to the towel passing over his wet hair.

“You’re a good nurse,” Gally said. Newt jumped and glared over his shoulder at him.

“I just don’t want my hammock wet.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gally slapped his own towel over his shoulder and disappeared to the showers. Newt pulled a face after him. Gally was always there to give him a dig in the ribs when he least needed it.

After finally getting the boy dry Newt grabbed his blankets from where they had been tossed on the floor and arranged them over Thomas so that he was tucked in from his toes to his chin.

“Sleep tight Tommy,” he said, then immediately regretted saying it out loud. He waited, but no-one seemed to have heard it, and to Newt’s relief he could hear Gally whistling away  in the shower where there was no chance he could have heard him.

 

* * *

 

For dinner that night they cooked the meat Ben had got the previous run that night. The runners ate before they left: tonight it was Gally and just a few others. A weekend night was always busy with Grievers so they kept numbers low and stayed out only until midnight. Newt waved them off with Alby then returned to the fire. Most of the security lights around the perimeter of the airport had broken long ago, but one remained and washed orange light over the little area they cooked and ate in. All of the boys not running that night were spread out over the concrete and nearby grass talking and laughing. It was the season for long sleeves and trousers but the blankets had yet to make an appearance.

Newt had eaten his dinner and made sure a portion - as large as he could convince Frypan to do - was left to the side for Thomas. The boy was still asleep in Newt’s hammock. He had gone to check on him every now and then, but he hadn’t stirred.

Newt swigged tea and sighed as he looked over the measly stack of flat breads that were their only stored food at the moment. That and a bit of cheese that was starting to go off. It would give them something - they wouldn’t starve - but they couldn’t last on it for long. They needed to start a store of non-perishables, cans and tins of beans and vegetables that wouldn’t give them food poisoning and would keep them going through the cold months.

“Alby, maybe we should start doing some day runs.”

Alby was looking over the stores too. That deep and pensive look on his face was one the boys saw often. He folded his huge arms over his chest, hands locking onto biceps that meant few dared mess with him. Newt watched him and waited carefully for his answer, aware of Alby’s feelings about day runs.

“We should give it another week.”

Newt nodded his head. Alby knew what they should do better than anyone. If anyone was going to get them through a rough winter like the one forecast, it was Alby. 

When Thomas emerged the group at the fire erupted into shouts of ‘hey greenie!’ ‘look, he’s up!’ ‘the greenie walks!’

Thomas looked as though he didn’t know if he was being taken the piss out, but the smiles on the boys faces showed their teasing was in good nature.

“Hey guys.”

Thomas came to stand next to Newt at the fire.

“Hey, Newt.”

“Hey there sleeping beauty.”

“What happened, I don’t remember. I went to have a shower…did I just go and lie down?”

Newt grinned, “Not quite. Gally found you having a kip on the shower floor. Good job he did, can’t have a greenie wasting all of the water.”

He winked at Thomas who now looked crestfallen.

“I passed out?”

“Again. Where were you running away from, Tommy, the north pole?”

“I wondered why I was only in a towel,” Thomas mumbled, “Whose bed was I in?”

“Mine.”

“Oh hey, Newt, I’m sorry-”

 “Don’t worry about it, I told them to put you there. We’re going to be sharing that bed until we can get another hammock sorted out for you anyway.”

Thomas was now bright red from the tips of his ears to his neck. He had put on the clothes he had been wearing when he was found and Newt made a mental note to get him some new ones.

For the moment Newt grabbed the food he had been keeping for Thomas and he sat down next to him whilst he ate. The other boys gravitated out onto the runway to play football or mess around. Each of them would have a slight edge of nerves to whatever they did until they went to bed. It was always a tense wait for the runners to come back, and most of the boys didn’t dare go to sleep until the last one was back safe and sound. The fear of someone being taken off by a Griever was shared by the group as a whole. 

“I can’t believe what an idiot I’ve made of myself already,” Thomas groaned, keeping his head low over his food.

“Don’t worry about it Tommy. We’ve all made fools of ourselves here. Doesn’t matter.”

“Feels like it does.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you haven’t done worse than Gally did in the summer. He got stung by a wasp and cried for like a day.”

That nearly made Thomas spit out his food.

“It was pretty funny. You’ve got a long way to go until you top that.”

“I can’t imagine Gally crying.”

“Nor could I, but then...”

The blonde and the brunette sat in a comfortable silence by the fire whilst Chuck and a few of the others cleaned up the rubbish from the packets of meat and helped Frypan lug the pans off to be washed. The dark beyond them seemed enormous and all-encompassing and Thomas was happy to be here in the light with someone by his side.

Especially since it was Newt.

“So where are all you guys from? Can I ask that? Or is it off limits?”

Newt grabbed them both one of the remaining flatbreads to share and tore it up into pieces as he spoke.

“The rule is that if the person wants to talk about it then they will. Don’t ask if you don’t think they want to. Don’t push anyone. We’ve all come from different places and for different reasons. Some people want to talk about it, others don’t. Between us all we’ve seen everything: abuse, death, broken families, immigration, run-ins with the law. No-one’s story is pretty. But your past doesn’t matter. What you did or what got done to you, none of it matters here. We’re all friends, we’re all brothers, we survive together.”

Thomas nodded, feeling the weight of Newt’s words. They felt safe, comforting. Even though they had fallen out of the lips of someone who was basically a complete stranger they were more assuring than anything he had heard in years.

“Alright. Can I ask about you? If you don’t wanna know just tell me, but I gotta ask first right?”

“Ask me what you want and I’ll give you the answer if I want to,” Newt said, with a small smirk playing on is lips.

“Are you British?”

“What was your first bloody clue?” Newt chuckled.

“So how did you get here? Get lost on a holiday or something?”

“Nothing like that, no.”

Newt tried to keep his words light for Thomas’s sake - no need to bring the guy down - but they were chosen carefully, “I have a British mother and an American father. I went to school in England until I was about 11. Then I came over to America to live with my Dad.”

“How did you end up here?” Thomas asked, tentatively, careful not to break the rule that he had just been given.

Newt picked at the edge of his fingernails, “I didn’t get on with my Dad or school in America. I wanted to go back to England, but my Mum didn’t really want me back. She had a new fella, a new family. Let’s just say I wasn’t on my best behaviour,” Newt laughed dryly, “My Dad didn’t really know how to handle me. He even had me sent off to one of those camps they’ve got for ‘out of control’ kids over here.”

“You serious? I can’t imagine you being _that_ bad to get sent to one of those places.”

They both laughed, Newt mostly because he liked seeing Thomas do it. When Thomas laughed his mouth stretched in an impossibly wide grin and his eyes wrinkled delightfully.

“I don’t think I was, my Dad just didn’t want to deal with me.”

“How was it?”

“Torture. Not because of what we had to do, like roll around in the mud and pick up planks and paint fences, but just because of the people in charge. I couldn’t stand being told what to do every second of every day. When to eat, when to sleep, when to go to the toilet, when to sneeze. I escaped after a couple of weeks. Scaled a fence and ran for miles. When I got home my Dad hit the roof.”

“So what then?”

Newt lips quirked in a small tense smile, “Then we get to the bit that I don’t want to talk about.”

“Oh, ok. Sure. Sorry.”

“Like I said Tommy, you can ask any of us. Just don’t go digging if they don’t want to give the answer.”

Somewhere off in the fog over the runway two boys were roaring Minho’s name. He and Ben must be racing one another, Newt thought. They were always competing to be the fastest sprinter.

“So what about you then Tommy? You said you were running away.”

“Yeah.”

“Want to go into it any more than that?”

Thomas turned to look at Newt, his face unreadable in the flickering shadows that the fire threw off. Newt waited patiently. After a while Thomas looked back into the fire.

“Yeah. Maybe. One day. Not right now though. Sorry.”

Newt hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until Thomas spoke, “Don’t worry about it.”

It made sense. It had taken Newt almost a year to hear Alby’s full story. He still didn’t know all of Gally’s, just patches. Minho had shared his quite early on and he had spilled his to Minho. But the pact not to keep on digging also stretched to keeping one another’s secrets. If Thomas had asked why the other boys were there, even if Newt knew, he would never say. They had to trust one another to keep the past just as it was: the past.

“Come on Tommy, keep eating. ‘Fraid you’re going to slip through a crack if you don’t.”

“How can I ever pay you guys back for this? You’ve given me a place to sleep and all this food and I-”

“You’ll pay us back by livin’ here with us. Helping us get food, clean the clothes, keep us all safe. That’s what we all do for one another.”

“Right. I think I’ve just made an idiot of myself so far.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I think you’re going to be a good runner. When you’re back to full strength I’ll take you into Maze and show you what we do at night. It’s not just about bein’ a fast runner, no matter what those guys say.” He pointed out into the gloom where it sounded like Minho had just won a close race, “It’s bullshit and they know it. You’ve gotta be fast, but you’ve also gotta be strong, resourceful, able to think ahead and defend yourself.”

Thomas frowned, “Do you think I’m up for it?”

Newt slapped a hand onto Thomas’s broad back. He could feel the nodules of his spine under his fingers, “Sure I do.”

* * *

 

The runners came back dead on midnight. Newt was waiting for them with Minho and Alby at the front of the airport. Minho and Alby had been standing with their arms folded in identical expressions like watchdogs, whilst Newt stood in between and stroked at his chin and lip with his finger: an old habit he didn’t even realise he did. Thomas turned up just as the runners did. Newt didn’t notice him in the rush to count the guys back in.

“That everyone?”

“You all ok?”

“We saw Grievers but none of them saw us. Man it was gettin’ busier and busier. Everyone was out in Maze tonight.”

“Oh look, it’s the shower snoozer,” Gally said when he clocked Thomas standing by the door. Thomas just shuffled awkwardly.

“You pulled out your hammock yet?” Gally asked Newt.

“No.”

“Do I have to help you guys do everything around here? Come on then, or Snow White’s going to have to pass out on the floor again.”

Even though he could be a dick if he wanted to Gally was certainly the best at fixing and building things in the Glade. Newt knew some of the reasons why - his father had been a builder and he had spent his childhood working jobs with his older brother on building sites (and necking cars in their lunch hour) - but he always had to marvel as Gally took to an engineering problem like it was nothing. They found the binding that was keeping Newt’s hammock as a single and pulled out the spare bits of material. With a few extra hooks and lashing to the hammock’s original peg by Gally, it soon stretched out as a double.

Newt looked down at it with a growing sense of foreboding. He had been happy to let Thomas sleep here, and still was, but suddenly the close proximity they would have to one another was worrying. Especially when he had spent the whole night counting the guy’s bloody freckles. He was no stranger to roughing it with the others, and back in the day when there were no hammocks at all he had slept on a packing crate between Minho and Gally for a good few months. That had been too close for comfort many a time. 

This, though…this was going to be interesting.

“There you go lovebirds,” Gally said, a voice dripping with delight, “Enjoy your honeymoon suite.”

“Piss. Off.”

Gally snickered and left to get himself ready for bed.

Newt wondered, briefly, whether Gally was being such a dick out of jealousy. But he pushed it out of his mind - that was a whole other problem he didn’t want to deal with - and started to sort out the blankets.

It was a cold night, and late, and most of the other boys were rolling into their own hammocks now that the runners were back. Thomas was getting dressed into some clean clothes Chuck had found him and Minho had helped Newt to scrounge some extra blankets. They usually had spare provisions if they could help it, and this was exactly why.

Newt stripped off his shirt and pulled on the one he wore to bed. It was an orange tank top that was so ratty he should really throw it away, but it was clean enough and not too restricting. He got so hot in bed that even in the depths of winter he preferred to wear less and pile on more blankets if necessary. He couldn’t stand the restrictive feel of clothes on his skin and neck.

When Thomas emerged even Newt couldn’t stop himself from laughing. The boy looked like he was drowning in a shirt that was designed for a man much taller and much, much wider than Thomas was ever going to be. It hung almost to his mid-thigh. The long, soft pants seemed to fit him but the shirt was ridiculous.

“Alright, it’s not that funny.”

“Oh Tommy, it really is.”

Thomas started to laugh too, “I think I need to find some better clothes.”

“I found a stash in a recycling bin on my last run. I’ll grab them when I am next in town and see if there’s anything better in there.”

“Chuck said everything else would be too small.”

“At least it’s something. I’m not sleepin’ next to you in those clothes you were wearing before.”

Thomas smiled shyly and Newt gestured to the hammock.

“Go on then, you go first.”

Thomas rolled awkwardly onto the material and froze, waiting for it to fall.

“It’ll hold us, trust me. Gally might be an idiot but he’s good at this stuff.”

Thomas shuffled over to the far side and Newt folded himself into the hanging shape Thomas’s body weight had made. They immediately rolled into one another.

“Sorry.”

“Move over a bit you shank, I don’t think we’re that friendly yet.”

They ended up laughing so hard the whole hammock wobbled, and were eventually yelled at by Minho to settle the hell down.

Finally, after a few minutes of shuffling and kicking at the blankets, they managed to find a position where they were both comfortable and had some pretence of personal space.

Newt was in his favourite position - the only one a person could manage on a hammock really - and lay spread eagled on his back with his arm bent beside his head to rest his cheek on.

The sounds of the other Gladers, quiet and snoring contentedly around him, were all it took to send him to sleep.

But he was suddenly awake only about an hour later.

His hammock was shaking. For a bleary minute he went through five or six scenarios, including an earthquake, Gally playing a prank, or the walls supporting the hammocks coming down. After a moment of lying there with his eyes open and unseeing in the dark he realised what it was.

His new bedmate was shivering. And not just light little trembles, he was really shaking. His teeth even chattered a little. Newt held out a hand and put it against Thomas’ shoulder. The boy, who had rolled half onto his side with his back to Newt, leapt out of his skin.

“It’s alright Tommy, it’s me,” Newt said, his voice low enough to hopefully not wake the others, “You alright?”

“Hm? Yeah.”

“You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not you shank. You keep doin’ this and you’re going to shake me off the hammock.”

Newt heaved some of the blankets off himself - he was too hot anyway - and dumped some of them on top of Thomas. The boy wasn’t able to turn in time to stop him, in fact he was struggling to turn over at all. Hammocks, Newt knew from experience, were not the easiest things to move around in.

“No, Newt, it’s fine,” the boy said through chattering teeth.

Newt lost his patience and grabbed Thomas’ shoulder, yanking the boy up close to him.

“Wait-”

“Just stop talking and go to sleep Tommy,” Newt said, the kindness in his tone clear besides the words, “Stop worrying’ and get some rest.”

He had pulled Thomas close enough that Newt’s chest was pressed against his back, and his arm was slung sloppily over his shoulder. It had been a silly, impulsive action that Newt thought he should regret, but of course he didn’t. It was too damn comfortable.

His nose was pressed against Thomas’ hair. It smelt like coconut, which meant Thomas must have used some of the communal shampoo Mino had stolen from a pharmacy a few weeks back. His back was hard and warm against Newt’s chest, close enough at the top that he could feel the nobbled reliefs of his spine again. Newt was trying his best not to get too close any further down than their chest and back. That would just provide a whole new set of problems, especially when Newt woke up the next morning.

Newt knew that this was practical thing to do: body heat was after all the best way to warm someone up and Thomas seemed too exhausted and run down be able to generate his own heat. But there was a not-very-small part of him that was aware he was getting a bit of pleasure out of this. Being so close to Thomas was most certainly a sacrifice he was willing to make. He went to sleep smelling coconut and feeling the quiet snoring of Thomas right against his chest, where his heart no doubt fluttered every time their bodies touched with the rise and fall of their breathing.

'You are totally pathetic' was the last thought Newt had before he fell into a deep sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Minho has been neglected in these chapters as of late, will be bringing him back a little more in the next. Oh and did anyone squint and see a bit of previous Newt/Gally? Not sure where that came from...


	5. Shank on a poster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets a massage, Thomas's past comes back to bite him, and Gally loses his temper.

Newt was up early the next day, and not just because of the ‘situation’ he had woken up to after a night of being in close proximity to Thomas. He found Alby already up and hacking at weeds around a new plot of land the farmer boys wanted digging up.

“Want some help?”

“Morning Newt. Yeah, if you like.”

Newt grabbed a hand-scythe he himself had stolen from the back of a tractor on his way into town a couple of years ago. He whacked away at the grass with Alby in comfortable silence, the cold air and the movement starting to wake him up.

“Thomas is cool,” Alby said out of nowhere.

“Yeah. He is.”

“He’s taken a shine to you.”

“What?”

“Come on Newt, it’s easy to take a shine to you. And you’ve been so nice to him.”

“What does that mean?”

Alby hid his grin by bending back to their work, “Nothing.”

Newt narrowed his eyes at his friend. Maybe he was more obvious than he thought. Still, he was only being kind to the guy. He remembered the sight of his collapsed figure on the cobblestones with the Grievers hanging over him, and that thought made his stomach clench tightly. He didn’t want any of them, newbie or not, to be taken off by one of those black vans.

“Changing the subject,” Alby said, kicking away a lump of turf, “It’s Ben’s birthday tomorrow. We’ve got to get the celebrations ready.”

That made Newt grin. Birthdays were the best days here in the Glade. It had been Alby’s idea at the very beginning to take each of their birthday’s seriously. Many of them were reluctant at first. Some of them had never had more than a pat on the head for their birthdays, but Alby had wanted to make the days an occasion for them all to come together, as an excuse to cement their group. They had bonfires, Frypan always cooked up something special, they used precious batteries on the speaker to play music and they stayed up all night long. No-one went into Maze and for one night the world was them and them alone.

“We’d better find some good stuff tonight for the meal.”

“Whose going into Maze?”

“Me, you and Minho I think. Still a weekend so we want to keep the numbers down.”

Alby nodded and thudded his scythe into the ground. The two farmer boys had appeared and were happy to take over whilst the pair got their breakfast.

“We got enough wood for the bonfire for tomorrow?”

“All sorted. Gally’s going to mix some of that lethal punch of his for tonight.”

 

Frypan was back at the fire - up earlier than usual too - sorting out the morning’s flatbreads that were their staple food. His smirk was a mile wide when Newt arrived.

“What?”

“We were all just listening to Thomas talking in his sleep.”

Newt tried to keep his face unreadable, “Really?”

“Oh yeah. He said your name once or twice.”

“Hilarious.”

“Not lyin’,” Frypan said, holding up his hands, “But Cliff did say he saw you guys cuddling up nice and close this morning.”

“Yeah he was freezing, that’s why.”

“Just messin’ with ya Newt.”

Newt knew better than the take the hump as it would just have intensified the teasing, so he rolled his eyes and the conversation moved on to other things.

“You ready for Ben’s birthday tomorrow Frypan?”

“Just get me something good from town tonight and I’ll have it covered.”

Newt slathered some of the slowly-going-off cheese onto a flatbread and tucked in. He was just finishing off his tea when Thomas arrived. His hair was stuck on end and he was sheepishly trying to smooth it down with one hand.

“Morning greenie. Breakfast?” Frypan boomed over the fire.

“Yeah man, that’d be great.”

“Newt says we’ve gotta fatten you up. Can see what he means, you’re all skin and bone.”

Thomas stuffed the proffered flatbread into his mouth so that he didn’t have to reply.

“Ignore them,” Newt said once Alby and Frypan had gone back to planning the meal for Ben’s birthday.

“Nah, it’s alright.”

“They’re just mucking around. Although saying that, your elbows were pretty sharp last night.”

Newt was quite proud at himself for bringing up the night before light-heartedly and without flushing bright red from tip to toe. Thomas just laughed, “Yeah sorry about that. I don’t know what happened, I was just so cold.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

* * *

 

Newt kept an eye on Thomas for the rest of the day, but was happy to see him go off with some of the others to look around the airport. Thomas spent a lot of time with Chuck especially. Newt got the feeling that the younger boy enjoyed knowing more than someone else for a change. At one point he saw Chuck marching him across the arrivals hall past the baggage carousels, Thomas’s arms laden with clothes from Chuck’s store.

Newt skipped lunch to keep on working. With winter coming in they had to dry and draught proof where they slept, the roof needed clearing of leaves so that the rain didn’t cause more damp, and the rain butts needed decanting and cleaning out. There was always something to do, and Newt was always happy to roll up his sleeves and get it done.

By the time he stopped at 6pm the injury in his knees from the other night was playing up. He collapsed on the edge of his hammock and spent some time rubbing at his left knee. The right one had stopped hurting but the pain in the left one just wasn’t getting better. It was stiff and sore after a day’s work and he was worried about the run tonight. It was as he was poking his kneecap pathetically that Thomas appeared.

“Oh hey. Not seen you much today. Chuck been lookin’ after you?”

“Yeah, he helped me find some clothes and things.”

“That’s great.”

“You going out into Maze tonight?”

“Food always needs collecting.”

Thomas glanced over his shoulder.

‘Is he checking no-one is around?’ Newt thought, his heart missing a couple of beats.

Thomas took a step forward, “Your legs ok?”

“What? Oh, yeah, it’s just my knee hurting a bit.”

“Is that from the other night? I saw you go down hard on the cobbles. Surprised you didn’t break something.”

Newt smiled lopsidedly, “No need to worry, I’m tougher than I look.”

“Still…” Thomas took another step forward. He looked like he was approaching a wild animal, “Do you need some help?”

“With what?” Newt was completely confused.

“With your knee. When I was at high school I was on the baseball team, and we sort of had to learn how to look after our own injuries. You should put some ice on that.”

“We don’t have any ice here.”

Thomas thought for a moment then started rubbing his hands together vigorously. Newt eyed him suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

Thomas knelt down in front of Newt, still rubbing his hands, and nodded for Newt to show him his knee.

“Give it here.”

Newt removed his own hands slowly and Thomas placed his palms - hot from the friction - on Newt’s knee. Newt tried his best not to jump at the touch. After a moment of letting the heat sink in Thomas’s fingers moved deeply but softly around his kneecap, working on the muscles around the painfully bruised area. Newt’s whole leg felt like jelly. Thomas’s hands were warm and much larger than Newt had expected. As he watched them massage his skin he took time to note his long fingers were punctuated by knobbly joints.

Newt had no idea what was going on but whatever it was he going to complain. Thomas was knelt in front of him giving him a massage and he would have done anything to make  time freeze so that it could go on and on.

“There,” Thomas said eventually, an expectant smile on his face as he sat back on his heels, “What do you think?”

Newt had to work hard to get his tongue and brain to coordinate properly.

“That’s helped. Thanks.”

His knee felt all soft and warm. He could still feel the bruise throbbing but it was as though the angry muscles around it had been put to sleep.

“You should try to find something cold to put on it when you can and really you shouldn’t be running on it. But I know you’re going into Maze today, so…”

“Yeah, can’t really have days off unfortunately.”

Newt pulled down his trouser leg, suddenly feeling exposed, “Thanks, Thomas. Really.”

“No problem.”

They were interrupted by Alby. To give Alby credit he put on a great pretence of noticing that their new greenie was knelt on the floor in front of his second-in-command.

“You ready Newt?”

“Yeah, sure. Coming.”

Newt stood up gently and tested the feel of his knee. It would no doubt wear off soon but whatever Thomas had done to it was working so far.

He left Thomas still knelt by their hammock in the semi-dark. He had to push that image out of his mind. If he didn’t he’d never concentrate and end up in a Griever van.

Gally was standing with Alby and Minho at the front of the airport looking ready to run.

“You coming Gally?”

Gally jerked his head, “Yeah, so what?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t know you were going to.”

Gally jogged away without saying anything else. Minho rolled his eyes and followed suit.

“What was that about?”

Alby grinned, “Gally won’t admit that he wants to come and make sure you get some good grub for Ben’s birthday. Isn’t he a big softie?”

“If you say so,” Newt grumbled, “Are you not coming?”

“No, think it’s best one of us stay behind. Unless you want to?”

Newt could feel a thinly veiled joke about Thomas heading in this conversation’s direction so he killed it stone dead, “No, I want to go. You stay here. I’ll see you later.”

“Be safe,” Alby said, the parting words they gave for every one of the boys that ran off into Maze, and waved them goodbye.

Newt set off at a run to catch up with the other two. Soon the lights and sounds of the airport were swallowed whole behind him in the fog, and all he could hear was the rhythmic footstep and breathing of Minho and Gally further up the road.

 

* * *

 

Newt was sweating despite the cold. He had had two near-misses with patrolling Grievers and he was looking forward to home. He had hit up the supermarket bins - he had the deftest fingers for breaking their locks - and got them a great haul of out-of-date food for Ben’s party. But he was worried about the Grievers and how many of them were out tonight. He’d given the whistle for the runners to give up and head home. They arrived at the same time at their meeting point on a quiet corner of a dark suburban street high up in town.

“We got everything we need?”

“I think we’ve got enough,” Minho said, hands on his hips as he caught his breath. Gally didn’t say anything. His face was screwed up like he had swallowed a bee. His fists were clenched tightly around his arms. After all this time Newt was able to read Gally like a book.

“You alright Gally?”

“Let’s just get back shall we?” Gally snapped, shouldering Newt as he passed. The only way Gally knew how to vent his frustration was to take it out on others, but he rarely directed his anger at Newt. Newt jogged along behind him with Minho at his side.

“What happened?” he whispered to Minho. The boy just shrugged back.

 

Back at the airport Frypan and the others accepted the runners' spoils with glee and disappeared to pack them. But Newt was more worried about Gally. He looked about ready to explode. He blasted into the airport and the three older boys followed warily. They knew what a Gally meltdown looked like and no-one wanted one of those.

“Gally,” Alby called after him, a warning in his voice, as the boy pushed his way out across the tarmac where the fire was blazing and the other boys were inspecting the goods from the night’s run.

Gally strode across to the fire pit, parting the boys like water, and Newt realised too late just exactly who he was zoning in on. The last handful of boys fell to the side and there was Thomas, who suddenly realised - also too late - that Gally was coming at him.

The shove Gally gave him nearly sent Thomas sprawling on his back.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Thomas yelled, but didn’t have time to do anything else because Gally had the front of his newly borrowed t-shirt balled in his fists. Newt and Minho leapt forward through the boys and grabbed at Gally’s arms but he knocked them away.

“When were you going to tell us, hey?!” Gally was roaring, shaking Thomas as he spoke, “When were you going to tell us?!”

“Gally what are you talking about?”

Minho tried to grab his friend’s shoulder but Gally wasn’t moving, “This shank’s family are shuckin’ politicians. His Dad’s a senator. There’s posters all over town of this shank’s face with a huge reward slapped underneath.”

Thomas gave him a shove back that Gally hadn’t been expecting and he let go of Thomas’s shirt. He carried on shouting regardless.

“This shank’s famous enough to get us found out. You think about that, hey greenie? You think that maybe coming here where _none_ of us want to be found wasn’t the best shucking idea? People are out looking for you, your family’s got a whole team searching. And you just come in here and pretend you’re some street kid runaway? No, you’re a snot-nosed brat who tried to run away from Mom and Dad and is going to get the rest of us taken off by the Grievers.”

The rest of the group were frozen as Gally lifted his hand, pointed a finger directly at Thomas and turned to the others, “This guy could get us found, and all those Grievers who only had enough money to hunt us in Maze before will be up here. They’ll drive up in their vans and they’ll take us away!”

“I’m just the same as you!” Thomas’s face was rigid with anger, made more prominent by the light of the fire dancing across his features, “I ran away. What difference does it make?”

“The difference is the Grievers are going to take _you_ back home to your townhouse in Washington and you’ll get grounded. _We_ get caught and we get shipped off to god knows where to rot.”

Thomas was shouting now, his voice scratched at the edges, “You think I’m just some kid who wants to frighten his parents for a few days and would happily put you lot in danger to do it?! I don’t want to do that, Gally, I’m here to disappear just like the rest of you. If you gave me a choice of going home or being shipped off ‘to rot’ by a Griever then I’d take the Griever any day!”

Gally spat on the tarmac, his arms now folded across his chest, “You better get out of here, _greenie_ , ‘cos I don’t care what hellhole you think you gotta go back to. If those posters are the start of some massive push to find you then we are done for. We’ve lived here _three years_ with no-one coming up here to bother us. We can’t let that change just because of you.”

“Gally, slim it,” Alby interjected and for the first time in a while Newt remembered to breathe. Gally rounded on their leader.

“’Slim it’? Didn’t you hear anything I just said?”

“I heard you Gally. But we treat everyone the same here, we always have done. Thomas ran away from home and he ended up here. Which means his home is with us now.”

“There are posters with his face on all around town, you don’t think someone who can afford to do that can afford to send the Grievers up here after us?!”

“I think we need to be careful. I think Thomas needs to stay up here and keep his head down. I think we need to keep an eye on what the Grievers are up to. But if they are just putting up posters then they can’t have any evidence that he’s actually in Maze. It’ll blow over.”

Gally paused for a moment, mouth agape with angry words that couldn’t escape. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out onto the runway.

“Gally, man, wait a minute!” Frypan called after him.

“I’ve got it,” Minho said, setting off after the furious figure heading into the gloom.

Thomas turned too, flying past the fire pit and back into the airport.

“Thomas, wait.”

Newt caught up with him at the check-in desks. He had to grab Thomas’s arm to get the boy to stop.

“Tommy, where are you going?”

“You heard him, I’m a danger to you all. I’m leaving.”

“Don’t be bloody stupid.”

Thomas’s face was a mixture of anger and desperation when he turned to look at Newt. He could have sworn that the boy’s eyes were shining.

“Tommy, Gally is just being Gally ok? He needs to blow up at someone now and then. He’s just…he’s just worried that things are going to change. He doesn’t like change.”

“He’s right though, isn’t he? If my parents are looking for me, if they’ve even thought about looking in Maze, then they mess all of this up. This is your home, Newt, I couldn’t do it to you all.”

“Tommy, _listen_ to me.”

Newt waited until Thomas looked up from the floor before going on.

“What did I tell you yesterday? We all have our past. We all have our baggage. What matters here is that we leave all that behind. Alby just said all we need to do is be a bit more careful until this blows over, and he’s right.”

The anger seemed to fly out of Thomas. His shoulders collapsed and he hung his head with his eyes closed.

“Tommy?”

“I don’t want to mess this up. This…I want to be here, Newt, but I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You won’t.”

When Thomas didn’t look up, Newt crossed the space between them and put his hand on the back of Thomas’s neck.

“Look at me, Tommy.”

Thomas looked up and his eyes were wet, “We want you here. You are one of us. We don’t send anyone away, no matter where they come from.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, quietly, drained.

“Don’t say you’re bloody sorry you slinthead,” Newt laughed, shaking Thomas softly. They stood like that for a moment with Newt cupping the back of Thomas’s head, waiting for Thomas to bring himself together.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Thomas’s laugh was more like a snuffle, “Yeah, I’m fine. What do we do about Gally though?”

“He’ll come round. We just have to make sure we are careful for a couple of weeks And Gally will get over it eventually.”

Thomas nodded.

“Ok?”

“Yeah.”

Newt let go of Thomas’s neck.

“Thanks, Newt.”

“No worries.”

There was something gnawing away at the pit of Newt’s stomach, a question he wanted to ask but didn’t dare: what had made Thomas want to run away from home?

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Thomas, or that he thought that someone from a family like his couldn’t be unhappy, but he wanted to know…

“Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not how it sounds.”

“What is?”

“My life. My family. They sound perfect on paper. If you read the papers you’d think we were the perfect ‘all-American’ family, but you’d be wrong. We…we weren’t. At all.”

“I believe you, Tommy. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“No, but…I wanted you to know. I didn’t run away lightly for no reason at all.”

Newt looked over his shoulder to the group outside. They must be on the edge of exploding with intrigue at the whole blow up. 

“If you want to talk to me Tommy, you know you can. But maybe right now isn’t the best time. It’s late, and everyone will be all ears.”

Thomas nodded and rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand, “Yeah. Good idea.”

“Everything alright?” a tentative voice asked from the door. They looked around to see Chuck leaning in from outside.

“Yeah we’re fine, Chuck.”

“Alby said we should all call it a night and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” 

Thomas pretended to be asleep when Gally stalked to his hammock. But Newt watched him cross the room and even in the gloom he managed to catch Gally’s eye. The boy gave him a dark look and turned away.

“Night guys,” Alby said from somewhere in the back. There was a rumble of grunted responses but Gally’s hammock and the one Newt and Thomas shared stayed quiet.

Newt could feel that Thomas was tense and most definitely awake beside him. There was no way for him to roll over now they were both settled, or he’d upend the whole hammock, so he had no way to spoon Thomas like he had done the night before. And anyway, Thomas wasn’t shivering at all. His excuse to be that close to the boy had gone.

Still, he could tell that Thomas was tormenting himself in the dark. Newt stayed stretched out on his back but slid a hand underneath the blankets until it landed gently on the side of Thomas’s chest. Thomas didn’t say anything but his body relaxed under Newt’s touch, and soon his heavy breathing sent Newt to sleep as well.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many lovely comments, thank you so much guys! I know I promised more Minho and it's coming, I promise.


	6. Good Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt has a telling dream, Thomas is determined to stop making a fool of himself, and the Glader boys do what boys do best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you a million times for the lovely comments and kudos. My knowledge and base for this story is a weird mix of the film and what I can remember of the book (must re-read soon) so hope it doesn't sound too weird.
> 
> This chapter is split into two as it was so huge!

There was a hot, heavy body pressed against Newt. Warm hands slid up under his shirt and fingers pressed firmly onto the skin of his hips. It was Thomas, that much Newt knew. He didn’t know how he knew, but it was him. His kiss was like warm honey. The more Newt had of it the more he craved it.

Why was everything so dark?

Newt felt Thomas’s hip bones downs softly and strong hands lifting his own up. A moan slid from the back of his throat. One of Thomas’s hands ghosted over side, down between his legs and spread over the top of his thigh.

Thomas was stretched out over Newt and the heat of his body was like a drug. Newt felt heavy all over and his breath was caught in his chest as that right hand wandered…

Wait, what was happening? Suddenly he couldn’t move. The kiss continued but the feel of the hand was fading, and Newt’s body was falling backward slowly. The darkness was getting thicker, his head was lighter…

 

When Newt woke up he had no idea where he was. He lay breathing heavily for a moment and waited for his brain to catch up. Then reality rushed back to him. He was in his hammock on his back with piles of their heavy blankets covering him from head to food. Just like the body had in the dream. Just like _Thomas_ had in the dream. 

‘Oh god, I was dreaming about making out with him.’

Newt used his bare feet to kick away the blankets. He looked over at Thomas who was still asleep next to him, and had definitely _not_ just been laid over Newt kissing him like he’d never been kissed before. It was just a dream.

Thomas had rolled onto his back in his sleep. His eyelashes were heavy against the soft skin above his cheekbones and his mouth was parted slightly. One of his bare feet was hanging over the edge and he had thrown off his blankets. They had all ended up on top of Newt. No wonder he was having such hot and vivid dreams.

Newt scrubbed his hand over his face and through his hair.

‘How bloody embarrassing’.

He peered over the edge of the hammock at the rest of the Gladers. All he needed was for one of them to have woken up early and seen him kissing the air. And moaning.

To Newt’s relief the other boys seemed fast asleep. It could have only been just after dawn. The light through the small cracks in the coverings on the glass was milky white and soft. Newt let out a sigh and carefully extracted himself from the hammock. He needed to shake that dream off and have a very, very cold shower. 

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday Ben!”

“Happy birthday man.”

“Here, Ben, have some tea.”

“Want a bit of my bread, Ben?”

“Hey Ben, happy birthday.”

The morning rang to the sound of well-wishes for Ben. He sat on one of the packing crates and took it all in with a beaming smile. The pink embarrassment on his cheeks at all the attention looked funny on a tall, broad boy with a chin that could have been chiselled from marble. But he was a popular and well-liked member of the Glade, and everyone wanted to say happy birthday.

Newt and Thomas arrived at breakfast together. Newt had had his cold shower and then - unnoticed as far as he could tell - slipped back into his hammock. He had spent the rest of the morning until the others started to wake trying not to think of his dream. It hadn’t helped that he’d found his gaze falling to his right to watch Thomas sleep. In fact he was sure at one point he spent nearly a full half an hour watching Thomas snore softly beside him.

“Happy birthday Ben,” Newt grinned, swinging his hand to grab Ben’s in the Glader handshake. Minho had invented it when there were just the four of them in the glade and it had fast become the favoured way for the boys to greet one another.  

“Thanks man.”

“Yeah, happy birthday Ben.”

“Thanks Thomas.”

Though there had no doubt the conversations around the fire the night before and that morning had all been about Gally’s blow up at Thomas, no-one spoke about it. Gally was sat on the other side of the fire whittling something, engaging with the festivities around him but stalwartly ignoring Thomas and Newt.

Newt went to grab a cup of tea for him and Thomas and met Minho at the bubbling kettle on the spit.

“Gally alright?” Newt asked, keeping his voce low to hide it under the cheers of ‘happy birthday’.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. You know what he’s like about keeping this whole thing secret.”

“We’re all like that. Doesn’t mean we all lose our rag like that.”

“No, but that’s Gally. He’s not happy unless he’s got someone to yell at.”

Minho sloshed hot water into the three mugs dangling from Newt’s fingers.

“Did you have any idea what kind of family Thomas came from?”

“None. I only knew his name was Thomas like the rest of us. He said he didn’t want to talk about where he came from. You know the rule. I didn’t ask.”

“Well we’d better keep an eye out just to be safe. Alby’s right, just because there are posters here it doesn’t mean they necessarily think he is here. They might just be covering a lot of ground. As long as the Grievers don’t see him.”

Newt decided not to remind Minho that two of those Grievers had nearly taken Thomas away the other day. It was dark and they probably couldn’t have got a proper look at Thomas’s face, but still.

Newt returned to his spot with Thomas next to Alby.

“There you go Greenbean.”

“Thanks. Greenbean?”

“Yeah. Have I not called you Greenbean yet?”

“No. I think I prefer it to greenie though, if you’re taking notes. Or my own name.”

“What about Tommy? Prefer that, or Thomas?”

“If it’s you, Newt, I prefer Tommy. ‘Thomas’ just sounds strange coming from you now.”

“Well good, because I think it suits you better.”

“Speaking of names, what sort of a name is Newt? Did your parents like the animal, or something?”

“I wasn’t christened Newt if that’s what you mean. My last name is Newton.”

“As in…Isaac Newton?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s your first name, officially?”

Newt rubbed at his suddenly very hot ear, “Uh…Isaac.”

Thomas burst out laughing, “Seriously? Your parents called you Isaac with the second name Newton? Priceless.”

“Why do you think I chose the nickname Newt? I’ve not been called Isaac since I was eight. Even my teachers called me Newt in the end.”

Alby had overheard the conversation and was chuckling to himself.

“What are you laughing at, _Albert_?”

Alby shook his head and raised his hands, “Sorry, sorry.”

Newt turned back to Thomas, “Hey thanks for what you did with my knee yesterday.”

“Did it help?”

“Well I think I ran for a lot longer than I would have other wise.”

“You found anything cold to put on it?”

“I’ll figure something out today. And since it’s Ben’s birthday we don’t go on a run into Maze tonight.”

“Really? How come?”

“Today and tonight are all about celebrating. We’ve got a bit of old fashioned moonshine, we’ll build a bonfire, some music, and Frypan always manages to cook up a feast.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It is. The birthdays and our names are the one thing we’re all happy to keep from our old lives. It’s nice to celebrate it when we can.”

Newt excused himself for a shower and left Thomas sat by the fire. He was alone in the sleeping area picking up clothes to change into when Gally found him.

“You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack Gally.”

Gally folded his arms over his chest and planted his feet wide, as though daring Newt to ask him to move.

“You’re getting cosy with the newbie, aren’t you?”

“What? Gally, I’m just being friendly.”

“There’s the friendly we’ve all come to expect from you, Newt, and then there’s this.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. And frankly, if there was something, I’m not sure it’s got anything to do with you does it?”

Gally’s jaw clenched as though he were physically swallowing back words.

“Is it?” Newt asked again, challenging him.

“No.”

“No. Exactly. So why don’t you back off a bit Gally? And back off Thomas too. He’s done nothing wrong.”

Gally grunted and left, leaving behind the smell of woodsmoke from the fire outside.

 

* * *

 

“Go on Greenie, try some,” Ben challenged. Thomas peered down into one of the glass jars the boys were using as cups for Gally’s lethal punch. There was a circle of boys around him watching, waiting for the greenie to take a sip. Including Gally. Well Thomas was damned if he was going to back down in front of him. He looked around, steeled himself, and took a swig.

It was like drinking petrol.

He spat most of his first gulp out in a fine spray that caught the light from the bonfire and was scattered into the wind. The group watching him burst into laughter.

“Keep drinkin’ it greenie, it gets better.”

“Yeah Thomas you gotta just push through man.”

‘Screw this’ Thomas thought. He had spent most of his time in front of these guys passed out or too tired to even form a sentence. He was going to claw back some respect even if it killed him. 

He threw his head back and downed the rest of the jug in a handful of long - painful - gulps. The boys were howling with laughter and cheering him on. Even Gally was whooping appreciatively as Thomas drained the last of the foul stuff and tipped the empty jar over his head to prove it was all gone. A few last drops slid out and into his hair but he didn’t care. He had drunk it all and he was - so far - managing to hold onto his stomach.

Minho clapped him on the shoulder, “I like this greenie!”

“Give me your glass Thomas, you deserve a top-up.”

By the time the circle had dispersed there was only Newt and Thomas left. Thomas tipped his now re-filled glass of punch towards Newt and the two chinked glasses.

“Nice work Tommy. Even Gally was impressed with that.”

“Yeah well I’ve spent the first few days here being completely pathetic or being yelled at. Thought I’d change things up a bit.”

Newt could tell Thomas was starting to regret downing the punch: one of his hands kept sliding over his stomach as though trying to hold something in. They wandered to the fireside where Winston was holding court with an oft-told story about the day his older brother stole his Dad’s motorbike and drove it into a pond.

Frypan had cooked an enormous amount of food for the group. Thomas looked in complete disbelief when the bowls just kept being piled high, and Newt was quick to tell him that this wasn’t normal.

“Frypan pulls out the stops for a birthday meal. He saves spices and all the food he can for days. It’s amazing what he can do.”

“It tastes great. He’s so good at it.”

“You should ask him why he’s so good,” Newt said with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows, “It’s a pretty good story.”

Just beyond them past the roaring fire, a group of boys with Minho at the centre were discussing something.

“What are they doing?” Thomas asked.

Newt looked up from where he was taking away a jar of Gally’s moonshine from Chuck.

“Races, probably.”

“Races?”

“Yeah, everybody tries to beat Minho in a race. No-one has beaten him yet, although Ben gets very close.”

Some of the younger boys had placed markers along the runway and Minho was stretching out his legs as a group formed around him to spectate.

“Want to watch?”

“Sure.”

They ambled over with their jars of punch to watch the show. Ben was trying to get the crowd on his side.

“You should let him win Minho, it’s his birthday.”

“As if. Beat him hard Minho.”

Ben and Minho lined up at the start, flexing their legs and arms and generally putting on a show.

“They are such show offs,” Newt chuckled. He felt Thomas slide a glance at him. He let it stick there for a long minute before Newt turned and Thomas looked away quickly.

“What?”

“Just thinking that it would be good to see you run.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You go for runs into Maze, don’t you? So I’m sure you have a good sprint on you.”

“Not like these guys.”

They turned their attention back to the race as Gally yelled:

“Go!”

The two sprinters shot off from the starting line and were almost consumed by the fog as it blew across them in the wind. The boys were roaring their support for either Minho or Ben, but when it came to the finish line the birthday boy Ben missed by an inch.

“Yes!” Minho bellowed, arms above his head in victory.

“Minho, Minho, Minho, Minho!” the others chanted.

“Whose next?!” Minho cried as he jogged back to the starting line.

Minho beat Gally by a length, then Winston by a good few. Alby was finally dragged into proceedings but finished just behind Minho.

“Your go Newt,” Thomas said, giving the boy a shove between the shoulder blades. The others all shouted enthusiastically.

Newt had drunk too much for this, and he knew that Minho would have kept clear and sober until the races were over. This boy took his racing seriously.

“Think you can finally beat me, Newt?”

“Not a chance Minho,” Newt said with a shake of the head, “But I can’t say no to a go can I?”

Minho looked over Newt’s shoulder and broke out into a grin. He was sweating with the exertion of the sprinting but his black hair still sat perfectly tall and impressive on his head, a testament to what the boy could do with only one pot of hair gel that he had stolen two years ago. His grin made Newt suspicious.

“What?”

Newt glanced over his shoulder and saw what Minho was looking at: Thomas was standing with the light of the bonfire behind him, illuminating his huge smile and laughing mouth. He was clapping his hands then cupping them around his mouth to cheer Newt on, shouting as loud as the rest of them.

Minho’s voice was, thankfully, covered by the roar of the crowd.

“He’s cheering for you.”

“Yeah? So what?”

Minho just smirked and turned back to the rough track across the runway.

“Nothing. Get your game face on Newty.”

“Never call me that,” Newt said darkly, sticking his foot against the starting line someone had made from pouring sand onto the grass.

“Three, two, one…go!”

Newt realised too late that his knee was still giving him troubles. When he set off he was hampered by a blinding shoot of pain. ‘Just my bloody damn luck’ he thought as the two of them tore across the grass. Thankfully the alcohol he’d had already kicked in and the pain subdued.

There were only a few people who knew about the early days of The Glade, but back when it had just been Newt, Minho, Gally and Alby, the four of them had raced each other all the time and Minho lost a few times. A good runner, yes, but not unbeaten.

As the two boys flew across the turf Newt had a moment where he thought perhaps this time he could beat Minho, just like he could in the old days. They were at level pegging almost all the way to the line and the pain in Newt’s legs had been chased away by the wind and the adrenaline.

But at the last minute Minho found a second gear, that thing every sprinter needed, and blasted ahead of him. They finished with Newt only one pace behind him, but behind him nonetheless.

“Shuck it!” he yelled as Minho leapt in the air in victory, “Bloody hell.”

“Ha-ha, close but no cigar Newt!”

Back at the starting line Thomas handed him back his jar of punch and squeezed his shoulder, “That was so close Newt.”

Newt shook his head and wiped the sweat from his hairline away with the back of his head, “Not enough when you are chasing Minho.”

“Come on then you shanks, whose next?!” Minho was bellowing, enjoying his moment in front of the crowd.

“How about Thomas?!”

This time it was Thomas that got a shove between the shoulder blades. From Newt.

“Wait, whoa, no I don’t think-”

“Tho-mas, Tho-mas, Tho-mas!” Chuck chanted, pumping his fists.

“Come on, greenie, show me what you got.”

Newt grabbed Thomas’s jar from his hands and gave him another shove to the line.

“I don’t think-”

He looked over his shoulder at Newt desperately but all he got was a ‘your-turn-now’ grin.

Minho was beaming at the idea of beating the greenie.

“You fast Thomas?”

“We’ll soon see.”

The boys crowed delightedly. Ben looked like this was the best present he had received all day.

“Three…two…one…go!”

Newt cheered and whooped as the two of them set off, adding his support for Thomas to the split crowd.

“Come on Thomas!”

Newt couldn’t believe it. Thomas was level with Minho all the way to the end. And just as Newt was expecting Minho to find his second gear and overtake, suddenly it was Thomas who had dug in deeper and was passing him. He crossed the line a pace or two ahead of Minho.

The boys went completely silent as the two racers pulled up. Minho put his hands to his hand and Thomas turned with his  to check he had in fact just beaten the undefeated champion of The Glade. His mouth was wide open.

Newt was frozen with the rest of them, his mouth open too. Then he shouted.

“Yes Tommy!”

The rest of the boys erupted into shouts and whoops of ‘Tho-mas, Tho-mas!’

They were still cheering when Thomas returned to the crowd, with Minho trailing behind with his hands on his waist. They still cheered even when Thomas turned away and threw up all of the punch in his stomach onto the grass.

“How did I lose to _that_?!” Minho cried and pointed a finger to where Thomas was wrenching up bile. Newt picked up Minho’s drink from the grass and handed to him.

“Never mind hey Minho. You had to lose one day.”

“To him though? To a greenie. Shuck it, I was just tired that’s all. Been racing you lard-arses all night.”

Some of the other boys were racing now. Ben vs Winston, Gally vs Ben, Gally vs Alby…

Newt turned away from the yelling and went to find Thomas who had slumped onto the grass near the fire. Chuck was hovering over him, worried.

“Can I help?”

“He just ran too fast and drank too much, Chuck. Maybe grab him some water.”

“Ok.”

Thomas looked crestfallen when Newt sat down next to him.

“Why so sad greenbean?”

“You saw that. I just threw up in front of everyone. Again. Made an idiot of myself. Again.”

“Stick around long enough and you will see plenty of the others throwing up. And you beat Minho. Nothing more impressive than that. He’s never been beaten. Not since there were only four of us.”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself Tommy. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.”

“I sort of feel like I have to. After the other day.”

“Still worried about that?”

Thomas scrubbed his hands through his hair, “I can just…I can _feel_ my Dad breathing down my neck, you know? Like those posters are him, and he’s here in Maze. I know he’s not but I can’t get that idea out of my head.”

Chuck returned with the water and the conversation turned to happier things. They ate, drank some more, and then someone switched on the music. It blasted thinly of the tinny speakers but it was a good back drop to the roaring bonfire and the shouts of the boys.

Newt lost Thomas for a while when he was dragged into watching Gally wrestle anyone who dared challenge him. Where Minho was fast, Gally was strong. Ben nearly got him once but at the last minute was tripped and hit the grass hard. Gally raised his arms in victory and Newt cheered along with the rest of them, but his eyes were peeled for Thomas. The boy was conspicuously absent.

Not that Newt cared, obviously. He didn’t need to be stuck to Thomas 24/7. Still, he thought he had better go and check on them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That whole bit about Minho's hair came from this funny bit of an interview with Will P about the film: http://youtu.be/Y4B8j0aWGyg?t=1m57s 
> 
> Also when I was writing the party bits I was listening to Of the Night by Bastille, in case anyone was interested ;)


	7. Blame it on the moonshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho is devious, Thomas and Newt are drunk.

Newt separated himself from the crowd and went back towards the airport. A few of Frypan’s little chefs were whispering over the pots and pans as they scoured for leftovers.

“Hey Newt,” they chorused as he passed.

“Hey guys. Have you seen Thomas?”

“He was inside with Minho a while ago,” one of them said, pointing a finger to the airport.

For some reason Newt’s stomach clenched tightly. What was he worried about? That Minho and Thomas has slid off to do something private?

Yes, that was exactly it.

‘I am so bloody stupid’ Newt thought as treaded carefully into the building. They had no electricity in the airport at all so the only method to find ones way around it was to be careful and use the light from outside. It helped that Newt had been here three years and was used to avoiding the abandoned shoes and clothes. There was a little extra tonight with the added light from the bonfire so the first half of the airport was blazing orange. Newt couldn’t hear anything though, the music outside was too loud. Not for the first time he was grateful that the fog covered light and sound from the airport for miles.

Newt felt his way carefully to their sleeping area. He was ashamed at how relieved he was that it was empty.

What the hell was he worried about? Minho wasn’t gay, he knew that for sure, and he doubted Thomas was. That final thought made his heart dip a little, but he couldn’t find the evidence to argue it. Then again, Thomas had let Newt be a little more touchy-feely with him that what would be considered normal. It was strange for Newt, this driving need to be close to Thomas, to feel the warmth of his body near him or against his own skin. At first he hadn’t given it much thought beyond that: all he wanted was to be close to him. To see the freckles move as he smiled, to see the light in his eyes and the crinkle of the skin around them as he laughed. To see the flex of muscles in his jaw and the sound of his voice, a sound that was a complicated mix of deep and light all at once.

Then he had had that dirty dream. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had had one of those but the hands and lips and bodies had all been faceless mirages. None of them had ever been so real, none of them had ever been visions of a boy who was snoring gently beside him. It was one thing to want to be close to a guy, it was another to start dreaming about making out with him.

Newt knew he was falling hard. And the idea that Minho and Thomas had snuck off together was one that made him feel sick. Even if they weren’t in some dark corner living out Newt’s fantasies it still made him queasy to think that someone else might be the person Thomas touched and laughed with.

With the sleeping area empty Newt turned on his heel and traced the edge of the airport’s departure lounge. It sounded empty. He tried the cupboards and the further reaches of the airport that they had never populated - the areas with rat and pigeon crap piling up in the corners - and then turned back to arrivals. This is where the showers were and where the boys hung their washing to dry when the air outside was cold enough to freeze their underwear solid.

Newt was about to leave when he heard the unmistakable sound of a glass jar chinking against something. Then the ripple of a laugh - Thomas’s laugh - and the scrape of a boot against the floor.

Newt froze. Now was his chance to call their names and let them come out in their own time. He swallowed heavily.

Yeah, he was going to let that chance pass him by, thanks very much.

Careful to mind that he didn’t scrape the sole of his boots on the squeaky floor, he crept forward to one of the luggage carousels. In the dim light he could now see the back of two figures leaning against the inside of one of the carousels. It was definitely Minho and Thomas: Newt recognised Minho’s perfect hair even from a distance. They were sat next to one another with their knees up and drinking in the dark. Well, Thomas was drinking, and Minho was passing him a fresh jar of moonshine.

“So what?!” Thomas cried with a laugh and Newt stilled again. He was close enough to hear them now. He lowered himself closer to the floor so that he blended in with the shadows. He felt like he was back in Maze and hiding in the fog, keeping out of sight as he snuck around to find food. Except that here he had no idea what he had just found.

“So…I think it’s nice,” Minho said. He was laughing too, “It’s sweet. He’s a nice guy. If you like him-”

“Hey, hey, you are putting words in my mouth now.”

“So you don’t like him?”

“I think he’s great.”

“No, I don’t mean _like_ him. I mean _like_ him.”

“No comment.”

“Oh that’s a load of klunk, Thomas.”

Thomas took a swig of the drink, “Are you trying to get me drunk and press me for information, Minho?”

“I’m just tryna be a friend.”

“To who? To me or to Newt?”

Newt’s stomach did a summersault.

“To both of you. We’ve not had romance in the Glade yet, thought we never would with just boys here and all.”

“And there isn’t going to be any.”

“Right. You think I’m a shuckin’ idiot? You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him when he can’t see you? Like a puppy seein’ it’s owner. You moon after him the minute he turns his head.”

“That’s such klunk. But…you think he sees anything? If I was staring, which I am not.”

“Newt doesn’t see anything. Believe me. Newt is completely oblivious when it comes to all things to do with him. Now if you had a crush on _me_ , and you were staring at _me_ every time I looked the other way, then Newt would see it like that.”

Minho clapped his hands together and Newt couldn’t help but jump at the smacking sound that echoed around the empty hall.

“He’d be on it like a bee on honey. But since it’s _him_ that you are staring at…? Newt will be oblivious. Newt spends his time making sure _others_ are ok. Not himself. I’d hate him for it, if it didn’t make him such a nice guy.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment and Thomas drank some more. Minho was watching him.

“So…because I am wasted I will pretend for the next five minutes that I do, in fact, _like_ Newt. Then what? He doesn’t even notice. So do I tell him? ‘Cos I don’t fancy sleeping next to a guy who doesn’t like other guys, never mind me, for the foreseeable future.”

“As far as I can tell Newt doesn’t fancy anything.”

“So why the hell are you going on about him and me then?!”

“Let me finish. As far as I can tell Newt doesn’t fancy anything. That is, until you arrived. Now it’s obvious. Shuck it, I don’t know if Newt is gay. What I do know is that he’s got the hots for you.”

“Ok, because I am still wasted, let’s keep pretending for a moment. So I tell Newt that I like him. Then what?”

“You need a talk about the birds and the bees, Thomas? Is that what you want?”

“No!”

The two of them fell apart laughing. They must have had a _lot_ of punch between them.

“No, Minho, I just mean…I don’t know what I mean.”

“Good job that you are wasted and don’t mean any of it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

“I’ve known Newt for three years. When I met him he was this scrawny kid, covered in mud, spitting out this British accent like the Queen. I thought he was going to be a real handful. Then, once Alby and Gally and I had shown him around here and he’d rubbed off all that dirt and he’d eaten some food, we got to see the real him. That in fact he was this sweet, kind, goodnatured kid. He’s our glue, man. Without him this whole idea of living together as a group would have gone south ages ago.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that even if you told him what you thought about him and he said no, Newt would _never_ make you feel uncomfortable about it. Not for one minute. Newt would never make anyone feel small.”

“Right,” Thomas said. He sounded hoarse. He took a swig of the punch and let out a long sigh.

Newt took a step back to try to extricate himself from this tricky situation of eavesdropping on the two of them, but his knees gave him away. His one aching kneecap popped, and in the quiet baggage hall it was as loud as a gunshot.

Minho and Thomas both turned around from where they sat and spotted him in an instant.

Newt raised a hand stupidly, “Hey guys.”

“Hey Newt,” Minho beamed. Thomas looked sick, “Just convincing the greenbean to stick with Gally’s punch.”

Newt laughed nervously, “Right.”

“Come and join us.”

Newt closed his eyes and cursed himself again and again. He was such an idiot.

He settled down beside them and made sure that Minho was between him and Thomas. He took the jar that Minho handed him and took a mouthful.

He had hardly swallowed it when Minho suddenly leapt to his feet.

“I just thought, Gally said he was going to organise a soccer hame.”

Both Thomas and Newt started gabbling, trying to agree to come with him, but Minho was already walking across the baggage carousel and disappearing down the hallway.

“No, no, stay there you guys, don’t worry about me, you just…drink and be merry.”

Minho even started jogging in the end, leaving them without much room for argument.

‘I am going to kill him’, Newt thought.

A silence settled over the pair of them. Newt had no idea whether Thomas was worried about being overheard - he could hardly see the guy’s face in the dark - but he had a hard time keeping his heart from pounding.

“Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna get even more wasted than we already are on Gally’s disgusting punch?”

Thomas flashed another full jar. How much of the stuff had Gally made? Newt had to remember to tell him to be careful stealing that much booze or the whole of Maze would be in even more of an uproar.

“I’d bloody love to.”

 

And that was how, about an hour later (with the party still going on outside) Newt found himself kissing Thomas in the shadows of the baggage hall. He was too drunk to remember who closed that final dark gap between them. He was too drunk to even remember how they had got that close in the first place. Newt didn’t even remember thinking anything when Thomas’s warm lips touched his. There was just a loud, heavy hammering in his chest and the palms of his hands were all sweaty.

The next thing he did remember he was being very close to Minho. Hanging off his shoulder, in fact. And he tried to say something eloquent to him, something like ‘oh good to see you Minho, I was just wondering whether we should all retire to bed’, but in fact came out more like: “argh Minho hi I’ve got bed and stuff’.

Then his hammock came up to meet him very fast and he let the darkness swallow him completely.

 


	8. Hangover Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas are hungover, smelly, and wondering how to make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the lovely feedback folks!
> 
> I can't believe I have posted three chapters today! Sorry for the windfall of chapters, I just got a lot done last night and thought I may as well post it!

Newt was aware of how hungover he was before he even opened his eyes. In fact whilst he was still asleep his subconscious was whispering in his ear ‘waking up is going to be painful’.

He didn’t dare open his eyes at first. It felt like too much of an effort. He’d woken to the sound of a bang somewhere in the airport, followed by a “sorry!”. A scatter of groans rose up from the darkened hammocks. Most of the boys were still in bed and recovering. At that moment all Newt could think about was going back to sleep. Maybe if he slept a bit more he would feel better…

He didn’t. When he woke up again an hour later he felt worse. He hadn’t moved all night and he had a painful crick in his neck. There was a high, worrying grumbling going on in his stomach and his mouth tasted like wallpaper paste. Someone had dumped blankets all over him and he was way too hot.

Opening his eyes took all of his energy and the minute he did he regretted it. His view of the edge of his hammock and the ceiling above it lurched around like it was trying to avoid his gaze.

“Oh my god my head,” he groaned. He swallowed heavily. Bad mistake. He could still taste Gally’s moonshine in his throat.

A low groan emitted from the blankets next to him. Newt didn’t dare turn his head. In fact if he kept very still and breathed in deeply he thought the worst of this might pass. Then Thomas started coughing and the hammock started swinging.

“Thomas, don’t make the hammock move!”

“Oh _goooood_.”

“Stop it, stop it, stop it.”

Eventually the worst of the swinging stopped and the two of them settled again. Newt let out a long breath. Ok, this was good. Maybe he wasn’t going to throw up after all.

“Please don’t move,” he said in a whisper. He could hear Thomas swallow heavily.

“What the hell was in Gally’s punch?”

Newt could hear Gally’s open mouthed snores across the room. He would be asking the boy the exact same thing. But later, once Newt could trust himself not to be sick.

“Dunno,” he mumbled. He turned his head, slowly, hoping that if he didn’t move fast the pain and the sickness wouldn’t catch up.

Thomas already had his head turned towards him. He only had one eye open. His hair was sticking out all over the place and a bit of it flopped forlornly into his eye.

“Ow,” was all Thomas said as they stared at one another for a moment.

“Yeah. Ow.”

They lay there for a while watching each other and tried to decide which one of them looked the most hungover.

“What happened last night?”

Newt did a bit more deep breathing as a wave of nausea came to him. Once it had passed he muttered, “I think we got very drunk and made out.”

Thomas tried to open his other eye but then decided against it.

“Right.”

They were very close to one another again. Just like the night before. Just like almost every night and morning, in fact, since Thomas had arrived at the Glade. Being very close to one another was becoming a habit. Newt didn’t mind that as a habit, obviously. He didn’t want drunken kissing to become a habit though. He much preferred to replace it with sober issuing. Thomas let his head fall forward a bit and their foreheads touched.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“You have a skull like bloody concrete.”

“Sorry.”

“I can’t move.”

“Me either.”

“So…exactly how drunk did we have to be to make out last night?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”

Outside the seagulls were crying out into the afternoon air. Newt had no concept of time but he was sure it must be the afternoon. The seagulls usually returned from their early morning on the sea round about now. Was he on duty to go into Maze tonight? God he hoped not.

“Shame that,” Newt croaked. He tried to swallow to loosen his throat a bit but just tasted more of the punch and pulled a face.

“You alright? You look like you just sucked a lemon.”

“I can still taste the punch.”

“I can smell it too.”

Newt sniffed the air, “I think that’s us. We smell like Gally’s punch.

“What were you saying about a shame?”

“Hm?”

“You said it was a shame that we can’t remember last night. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I think that was what I was saying.”

Both of them had closed their eyes. Newt hoped his forehead wasn’t too sweaty where it was pressed against Thomas’s. He certainly felt too hot. And good god did they smell of Gally’s punch. They both needed a shower, some food and a bit of space, and to come back to this problem fresh and with a level head.

They certainly didn’t need to be half a second away from kissing each other again, but that was what they were doing.

At the last moment Newt pulled away.

“Wait, wait.”

“What?”

“We both have disgusting morning breath.”

Thomas chuckled low in his throat. It was the only way he dared laugh for fear that opening his mouth further would bring the punch back up, “You’re right. You’re right.”

“We can do this later, if we want, but not right now, we both stink. We need to clean our teeth at least.”

“You’re right.”

They went back to sleep for a while, forehead’s still touching.

* * *

 

When Newt woke up for a third time that day it was because Minho was pulling on his big toe. Newt groaned and kicked him away.

“Get the hell off me.”

“Well look at you two all cuddled up together.”

Newt squinted at him out of the corner of his eye, too afraid to move his head from where it felt warm and soft against Thomas’s.

“Go. Away. Minho.”

“Oh do I have some stories to tell you about last night.”

“Can you tell them quietly? And to someone else, please? How are you not hungover?”

“I am, but I got out of bed a few hours ago, had a shower, threw up, ate some breakfast, and now I feel semi-decent.”

“I don’t. I think I am going to die.”

“No you’re not. Come on Newt, time to get up.”

Minho annoyed Newt enough that it actually roused him from his hammock. He had to crawl to the toilets and the showers and keep his head very, very low. If he raised it above a certain level he was sure he was going to vomit. Gally caught sight of him stooped and hobbling on his way to the showers but the older Glader couldn’t even laugh. He was too busy hugging a bucket.

In the end Newt gave in to the inevitable and made himself sick. Once it was over he was relieved. He cleaned his teeth, dried his hair and staggered out into the thin light of the afternoon sun trying its best to pierce the fog. He sat down by the fire and tried to warm up a flatbread for his breakfast. Frypan was still out for the count and his younger assistants were out on the grass playing soccer.

Chuck was sat by the fire and was annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy tailed.

“Hey Newt. How are you feeling?”

“Like death.”

Chuck patted his arm sympathetically, “It’ll pass soon.”

“Have you ever been hungover, Chuck?”

“Er, no.”

“Then don’t talk bollocks.”

Chuck flushed bright red. Newt laughed and ruffled the younger boy’s hair, “I’m teasing you, Chuck.”

“Oh, right. Want some of my tea?”

Once Newt had convinced Chuck that he didn’t need looking after and that he should go and play soccer with the others, Newt was alone by the fire. He was squinting across the grass trying to decide if that was Winston or Caleb passed out on the grass with his legs up on one of their packing crates when Alby sat down next to him.

“Afternoon sunshine.”

Alby didn’t look too fresh either but he was certainly better than Newt imagined he looked himself.

“Last night was messy,” Alby said. He was scratched at his chin thoughtfully, “I need to talk to Gally about how much alcohol he must have stolen.”

“I think he just wanted it to go well for Ben.”

“Yeah well I think he took it a bit too far this time.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah. ‘Course I did. Hard getting up this morning though.”

“Did you have to?”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you all, make sure no-one was lying in a pool of their own vomit,” Alby chuckled. He was joking, Newt knew that, but he still felt bad that he hadn’t been a better second-in-command.

“Minho has some interesting stories to tell about last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. About you and our greenie.”

Newt swallowed the last of his tea.

“Care to tell me your version of events?”

“I would if I could remember, Alby. What does Minho say?”

“He’ll kill me for telling you before he gets his chance.”

“Oh come on Alby, please. I need to be prepared for when I next meet Minho.”

“Ok. Minho told me that Thomas was very drunk and telling him about how much he liked you.”

“That’s not true.”

“How do you know?”

Newt put his face in his hands, “Because I was eavesdropping on their conversation. Minho was getting Thomas very drunk and telling him that he should admit to liking me.”

Alby gave him a long look then continued, “Right. Minho then says he left you two alone for a couple of hours. When he came back he said you two were right in the middle of some very heavy, er…”

Was Alby embarrassed? Newt laughed and slapped Alby on the shoulder, “Yeah, I know what you mean, Alby.”

“I shut the party down about 3am. Minho came back to find you two and you were passed out against each other. He came to get Gally and the two of them dragged you both to bed.”

They sat beside the fire together for a while and Newt tried his best to remember anything beyond listening in on Minho and Thomas’s conversation. Alby seemed to be thinking something over too.

“Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“You will be careful with Thomas, won’t you?”

Newt flushed bright red. Was Alby about to give him a safe sex talk?

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve only known him for, what, four days? And Gally is right, his past could get us all into trouble. If his family are that important and they are looking hard for him then…look, I just want you to remember what we have to protect here. The Glade has to survive.”

“I know that Alby. You don’t need to tell me to be careful. Thomas isn’t going to do anything that will compromise us.”

“He might not do it intentionally Newt.”

“So what, you want him kicked out now?”

“I’m not saying that at all. I still think the same thing I told Gally. We all deserve a second chance. But with Thomas’s we just have to be more careful.”

Newt suddenly didn’t feel like sitting there for much longer. He stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk. I still feel like klunk.”

“I’ll come with you-”

“No, I want to go alone. Tell Minho if he wants to pull my chain about last night he can wait for a few hours.”

With that Newt dug his hands in his pockets and walked off onto the runway and into the fog. He didn’t turn around but he felt Alby’s eyes burning into him the whole way.

 

* * *

 

  Newt was a mixture of relieved and terrified that he had allowed himself to be pushed into going on a run into Maze that night. Relieved because it gave him more of a chance to avoid Minho, Thomas, and all of the other people who were giggling behind their hands at him. And terrified because he was still hungover and he knew he wasn’t as sharp as he should be.

‘Trust me to finally kiss Thomas and then get taken off by a Griever’ he thought as he dug around in a bin.

He just about stopped himself from slamming the lid down in frustration.

Nothing. It was slim pickings tonight.

Not only that but winter had definitely arrived and Newt was freezing. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them up. He checked the strap on his bag and jogged back down the street further into town.

It was as he passing a bar that he saw it. A poster with Thomas’s face square in the centre. Newt crept up to it as though it might bite him.

INFORMATION WANTED

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?

Underneath there was listed the place he was last seen - at his family home - his height, a short description of him, and a telephone number for people to call. Newt looked around him at the empty street then snatched the poster from the wall.

He took it to a street light and had a closer look at Thomas’s picture. It looked like it had been taken at high school. He was sat on a bench and someone had cropped out the person whose arm was slung over his shoulders.

Newt screwed it up and threw it in a bin. He was glad he had seen it at least. Now he knew for sure that Gally wasn’t making any of it up.

He went back to work but found little else to excite him. Someone in a house just above the main square had clearly decided a dented can of beans was a dangerous thing. Newt picked the two cans of baked beans out of the house’s bin and  tucked them safely in his bag.

It was as he was crossing the road to check out the bins of a few cafes that he spotted the newspaper on the road. He picked it up and started to read as he walked. It was good for the Glade to keep an eye on the news when they could. Sometimes the local paper had pieces about them, or about how much money the Grievers were getting, or instructions on how to lock ones bins securely against their sticky fingers.

Newt normally would have folded the paper up and taken it back for Alby to read, but he was bored and the evening was fruitless. It also gave him a distraction from his pounding head. He leant against a cafe wall and made sure he was hidden in the shadows before opening the paper up.

He browsed for a while with eyes peeled for any mention of the Gladers. Or ‘rats’ as some of the opinion pieces like to call them.

He found the picture of Thomas on the fourth page. At first he thought it was just another a copy of the poster, but it wasn’t at all. It was an article.

Newt took another look around him, then started to read. It was a story about Thomas’s disappearance, filled with quotes from his ‘distraught’ mother and father, the senator, and bits of gossip from neighbours and ‘school friends’ on the state of Thomas’s mental health.

_A friend of the family told this reporter that Thomas had been struggling to make friends at his new school. Senator Greener wouldn’t comment on this but did say that his son had been recovering from an illness at home for the past three months._

Newt read it all again - the story of Thomas’s disappearance, the paragraph stating that he had been ill, the quotes from his family stating that they were worried about his state of mind - and then shoved it inside his bag. Clearly the disappearance of a Senator’s son - even if it wasn’t their Senator - was news in Maze.

He didn’t have time to think this through. Newt turned back to the job in hand and broke into the locked bin area of the cafe. He wasn’t sure whether it was because his mind was elsewhere - all the questions about Thomas were swirling unhelpfully - or because he was hungover, but he didn’t hear the Griever creep up towards him until it was too late. Newt spun on the spot and leapt backwards just as the man in the black jumpsuit slammed the gate to the bin area shut behind him.

Newt froze on the spot, breathing heavily.

“Well well,” the Griever said, “Caught you red-handed haven’t I?”

Newt took a step back and the Griever stepped forward.

“All alone are we?”

He was. Completely alone. Even if he made their emergency call the others were too far away. He had last heard Gally up in the higher parts of town, and a whistle from Zart across by the park. He hadn’t heard from the others so assumed that they were too far away as well. He was completely alone, trapped in a small space with a Griever.

Newt’s hand went to his knife.

“Now now, no need to do that.”

The Griever pulled out something out of his own pocket: the blue syringe that Newt had seen a handful of times before. It was a sight that made his blood cold.

“Stay away,” Newt said, his voice surprisingly level.

“Put your knife down.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on kid, this is boring. It’s cold and dark and I don’t want to be out in the fog for that much longer.”

“Then why don’t you piss off and head home?”

“Oh you’re the _British_ one, aren’t you? I recognise your face now. What do the others call you… ‘Newt’? That’s very cute. I’m not sure what newts are known for though, are you?”

“Back off,” Newt snapped as the Griever took another step forward, and he pulled his knife from his side.

“Listen kid, we’ve got two of your friends already tonight.”

Newt felt his stomach disappear towards his toe. Who had they got? _Two_ of them? His face must have shown his fear because the Griever laughed.

“Why not just give yourself in and then I don’t have to stick this in your neck?”

It was now or never. The Griever had pulled his syringe towards himself to gesture to it with his other hand. Newt leapt onto the top of the dumpster, only just about making it with the pain in his knee. The Griever raised the syringe but Newt was too far above him. Newt kicked out with his right leg and connected with the Griever’s wrist. The syringe dropped to the concrete and the Griever lunged for his legs instead. Newt jumped from the bin in time to avoid the grabbing hands and landed right beside the Griever. The hands caught him suddenly, grabbed onto his shirt, but he kicked out with his good leg and caught the Griever on the side of the knee. His leg buckled and Newt ripped off the gripping hands. He grabbed a hold of the gate to the bin area and pulled it back sharply. It connected with a crack against the Griever’s head and the man crumpled to the ground. Newt didn’t wait a moment to see what damage he had done. He jumped across the man’s prone form and sprinted through the gate. He ran through town calling the whistle for the end of the night.

At the meeting point by the church high in town he arrived just as Gally did.

“Newt what the hell, we’ve barely had chance to-”

“Have you heard from any of the others? Has anything happened?”

“What? No, nothing. Newt, are you alright?”

“Where the hell are they then?!” Newt shouted, gesturing to the empty space round them.

“You called it in like ten minutes ago Newt, give them some time. What happened?”

“I got cornered by a Griever and he said that they had already got _two_ of us tonight. Two of us, Gally, which two?”

Gally’s mouth opened and closed silently. He still looked grey from his hangover.  

“I…I don’t know.”

Newt squeezed his hands into the hair and made himself stop pacing around. They waited in a tense silence for the others to appear. First Zart, then some of the younger kids. Clint was the last one. Newt counted them all.

“Anyone else?”

“That’s it, there were six of us. We’re all here.”

“Then what…what the hell was the Griever talking about? He said they got two of us?”

“Probably just messing with you Newt,” Gally said. He put a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly Newt felt exhausted.

“Fine. But I’m pulling us out now. We’re going home.”

“ _What_? Newt, we barely got anything.”

“We’ll have to make do. We’re going home.”

“You can’t-”

“Actually he can,” Gally snarled, rounding on the younger kid, “So why don’t you clear your ears out and listen kid? We’re going home. Now.”

Newt rarely felt grateful for something Gally said but right now he could have kissed Gally’s boots for that. The rest of them shut their mouths and filed off into the darkness in silence. Back to the Glade.

 

* * *

 

 

“Heard you had a tough night.”

Newt looked over his shoulder to see Thomas. The boy had taken him by surprise. He thought he’d be well-hidden in this corner of the airport. It was on a small area built up on the roof that had intended to be a cafe for plane watchers or those waiting for a flight to land. None of the boys came up here because of the condition of the stairs. They were treacherous things to climb up and Alby had announced it off limits.

But Newt would go up there if he needed some privacy, somewhere that he couldn’t be seen or heard. Thomas had clearly been searching for him for a while. He looked relieved to see him.

And Newt was relieved to see him too.

“Hey.”

“You ok?”

“Yeah. It was tough but no-one got hurt.”

“Gally said you got cornered by a Griever. Were you ok?”

“Like I said before Tommy, I’m tougher than I look.”

Thomas scratched the back of his neck and laughed, “I don’t doubt you Newt.”

Newt was sitting on the counter with his feet on a barstool. Thomas came around him so that he was standing behind the counter. He put out his hands as though working the nonexistent coffee machine.

“What can I get you today Sir?”

“I could bloody murder a coffee.”

“I know. Can’t we ever find any coffee and just tea all the time?”

“What’s wrong with tea?”

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend your national drink.”

Newt just shook his head. Thomas leapt up onto the counter and arranged himself next to Newt, their shoulders pressed tightly together.

“So. I think we need to be grown up and talk about last night.”

“Which is funny, seeing as last night we were very _un_ -grown up.”

“Oh yeah, totally. Completely immature.”

“Ridiculously immature.”

“Remind me never to trust Gally’s punch again.”

“No, well, I did warn you.”

“Newt, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…making you uncomfortable. For clearly jumping your bones last night. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that I-”

“Whoa, whoa, Tommy, wait. For starters, no-one jumped anyone’s bones. Not that I remember much but I get the feeling we probably both lunged at the same time.”

“I just don’t want it to be awkward between the two of us.”

“Why should it?”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. I mean…if you don’t want anything more to happen then that’s fine, completely. But if that’s the case-”

“What makes you think that’s the case? Tommy remember that I would have kissed you again this morning. Even though I was so hungover I was a moment from throwing up on you. Oh and your morning breath was _rank.”_

 _“_ Thanks! Yours was nothing lovely either.”

“No, I’m aware of that. So if I was willing to do that this morning don’t you think that that implies it’s something I want to do all the time?”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, “All the time? As in…every moment of every day?”

“Every moment of every day sounds about right.”

They both laughed: both embarrassed, both pink on their cheeks. Thomas opened his mouth to say something else but Newt slid a hand around the back of his head and pressed a kiss to his lips to keep him quiet.

And this time they weren’t drunk, and Newt wasn’t dreaming. It was everything it had been in the dream and more. It was warm honey but better than that, warmer and softer and sweeter. Thomas’s hand cupped the side of his face and Newt had to turned his body on the counter to stop the crick in his neck. It was freezing up here in the cafe but Thomas was warm and close and Newt held onto the back of his neck for dear life, as though Thomas might slip from his grasp at any moment.

And finally when they had to come up for air - although Newt was sure he was already oxygen starved - Thomas wasn’t laughing or goofing. He was smiling softly, a smile that Newt had never seen before. It was slow and secretive and made Newt tingle all over.

“Finding some privacy around here is going to be hard.”

“You have no idea.”

“Are we going to have to tell anyone?”

“Let’s let them wonder for a while.”

“Fine by me. I don’t need Gally glaring at me any more than he already is.”

“Ha, don’t make me laugh, Gally already had his bloody chance didn’t he?”

‘Wait, what did I just say?’ Newt thought. Thomas’s hand moved away from his face.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You just said…you said ‘Gally already had his chance’. What does that mean?”

Newt closed his eyes because he couldn’t look into those molten chocolate eyes when he told Thomas this story, “Gally and I…back in the day when there were just a few of us we had a bit of a thing. It wasn’t…romance or anything, as much as I wanted it to be at the time. At least I thought I wanted it. Looking back I think I just wanted someone to be close to.

Anyway, we were both lost and angry at the world and we just used each other for some human contact. That’s all. We weren’t ‘together’. It was just about our sex drives and having someone else there. That was it.”

“So you guys had sex?”

Suddenly Newt wished he wasn’t as close to Thomas right now, “No, no. Not sex just…” - Newt couldn’t think of the words, his mind was spinning out of control - “Not sex just…you know…things like that but not actually…”

“Alright, Newt, you can stop panicking now,” Thomas said. He kissed Newt gently on his slightly parted lips as he finally forced himself to stop talking rubbish, “The moment is over.”

“Good. Ok. But you have to know Gally and I were not-”

“I get it. I get it. I believe you. Now can you stop saying Gally’s name and start saying mine?”

“ _Yours?”_

 _“_ Yeah.”

“What, like this?”

Newt kissed Thomas sweetly then started moaning like a porn star, “Oh, Tommy, Tommy, don’t stop Tommy.”

They were both laughing so hard that they didn’t hear Minho calling their names up the stairs, asking where the hell the two of them had gone.


	9. Touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas have a hard time keeping their hands off one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even BEGIN to thank everyone enough for their lovely comments and kudos and general awesomeness. It's wonderful.
> 
> This is a rather small chapter and a bit of a filler, but there is quite a dollop of angst coming their way so I wanted to get in some sweet, fluffy romance before things advance.

Newt was having a hard time keeping his hands off Thomas. And Thomas, to Newt’s delight, seemed to be in a similar situation. Whether it was a hand on the small of the back or a kiss on the cheek, or fingers tickling the back of a hand as they passed in the airport, it was the little touches and caresses that made up their day.

For anything more amorous they had to steal their chances when they arrived. One morning, a week after their first kiss (which they were deciding to count as the sober kiss, not the drunk one), they both headed to the showers at the start of the day and found themselves the only ones there. Without a moment’s hesitation Newt grabbed hold of Thomas’s wrist and pulled him into a cubicle. He spun on the water to drown out Thomas’s (weak) protests.

“What if someone comes in?” Thomas whispered as they stripped off the clothes they had slept in.

“I really don’t care,” Newt mumbled into Thomas’s lips, pulling them together for a kiss. And Newt had no time to worry that this was the first time he was completely naked in front of Thomas, because _he_ was seeing _Thomas_ naked for the first time, and that was the best antidote to anything Newt could think of.

Newt slid a hand over Thomas’s hips - completely bare, wet-and-slippery-from-the-shower hips - and pressed them close. It was like being shocked with electricity, only much wetter from the freezing cold water that poured over their heads.

“Bloody hell I hate this water,” Thomas gasped.

“Prefer a luxury heated bath would you princess?” Newt teased, nipping at Thomas’s earlobe.

Thomas hummed and slid his hands down Newt’s back, “As long as you were in it. But it's so bloody cold.”

“‘Bloody’?”

“Yeah, you’re a bad influence on me Newt.”

Newt whispered in Thomas’s ear just what a bad influence he could be on him, and soon Thomas was hot enough that the cold rainwater they washed in didn’t seem to bother him any more.

Unfortunately, they fell out of the cubicle at completely the wrong time. Just as they tripped giggling from of the shower Gally appeared, shirtless and holding his towel in his hand. The three of them froze, the only sound the drip-drip from the shower. Gally stared at them with his eyes widened like he had just stood on something painful.

‘At least we have our towels on’ Newt thought.

“Hey Gally,” Newt said. They held it in for as long as they could but soon the two of them fell about laughing. Gally arched an eyebrow at the two boys giggling uncontrollably.

“You two are pathetic.”

Gally slapped into a cubicle and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

Newt found himself missing Thomas when he wasn’t beside him. It was a weird, dizzy feeling that stayed with him as long as the boy wasn’t there. And then when he appeared in front of him, or his fingers reached out and ghosted over Newt’s as he passed, the dizziness was replaced by a heart-pounding giddiness.

They stopped bothering to hide their affection very quickly. The other boys didn’t say much, only low and teasing ‘oooooohs’ when a kiss was noticed. There was the expected ribbing about the fact that they shared a hammock. One day when they retired to bed the boys found a handmade sign propped up on their hammock:

‘If the hammocks a’rocking, don’t come a’knocking’.

Newt raised it above his head, “Who the shuck did this?”

He noticed Minho looking over his shoulder in mock innocence for the perpetrator.

Newt was furious, whereas Thomas thought it was hilarious. In fact he insisted on tying it to the top of their hammock despite Newt’s protestations.

“It’s funny, Newt,” Thomas placated, pecking him gently on the lips again and again until Newt started to smile.

“Alright, alright.”

 

It was the hammock that caused them both the most problems. Being that close to one another with the endless hours of the night stretching ahead of them was too tempting. But the realisation that they were in a room with twenty or so other boys snoring, farting and sleep-talking all around them brought any romantic midnight activities to a screeching halt. Newt had had no idea how hard it would be to lie there and feel Thomas next to him and not be able to _do_ anything about it.

Even the mechanics of sleeping in the same hammock suddenly became more difficult. Thomas tried to spoon Newt but it tipped them into the middle of the hammock, and that made it dip dangerously low. Plus all of the blankets rolled on top of them and Newt woke up early hours of the morning sweating and angry at how hot he was. Sleeping shoulder to shoulder felt too far apart, not now that they never wanted their hands off each other.

After a few nights of experimenting they found a comfortable position so that they could at least sleep close together without making Newt all overheated and furious.

They both lay on their backs, with Newt’s head snuggled against Thomas’s neck, his right leg pressed against Thomas’s left and their cold feet often touching. He could feel the beating of Thomas’s heart and the heat of his body kept off the worst of the freezing morning air.

It quickly became Newt’s favourite place in the world.

 

* * *

 

 

Winter came thick and fast to Maze. At The Glade their food supplies were dwindling and even Frypan was struggling to make meals that would keep them all going. Alby sanctioned daytime runs, but only by those who knew what they are doing. Newt was one of them and he rolled into his hammock at night too tired to do much else but collapse against Thomas and sleep.

On one of his few days off from running, Thomas found him at the very edge of the perimeter. He settled down beside him and brushed a fine caking of soil off his hands.

“Have you been gardening?”

“I have to help where I can if I can’t go into Maze.”

“Speaking of that, I’ve been talking to Alby. He said we need to give it another couple of weeks but if nothing’s changed then he thinks you should be able to go into town.”

“What did Gally say to that?”

Newt made a face, “It wasn’t nice.”

“No, well, nothing is from him is it?”

“I hope I’d get a chance to talk to you today,” Newt admitted. He reached underneath him and pulled out the newspaper that he had picked up in town a few days ago.

Thomas read the article silently. After some time Newt leant in and kissed Thomas on the cheek.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“It says you were ill. Before you ran away. What did you have?”

Thomas laughed dryly and with no humour, “Nothing at all.”

“You weren’t sick?”

“No. Not exactly.”

Thomas threw the paper to the side and arranged himself so that he was sat facing Newt. He looked across at him for a moment, as though trying to read Newt’s face, then leant forward and kissed him. It was a nervous, questioning kiss. Newt let Thomas sit back and stay silent for a while longer, then reached a hand forward and wrapped it around Thomas’s wrist.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Er,” Thomas’s voice was edged and wobbly, “Er, yeah, I do.”

Newt rubbed a thumb against the inside of the boy’s wrist. He wanted that look on Thomas’s face gone: he looked lost, anxious, unsure. He didn’t look like the boy Newt knew at all.

“Tell me,” Newt said.


	10. The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas shares his past, Newt wants to help, and Gally is not a total idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek these lovely comments you are leaving are so amazing! Thank you so much everyone! I am nervous about the anticipation for this chapter, I hope this lives up to what everyone was hoping for *crosses fingers* 
> 
> LOTS of angst in this chapter and *WARNING* references to past abuse.

“Well, I already told you my Dad is a Senator. But he was a lot of things beforehand. When I was a kid he was an odd-job man, a security guard, a cop even for a bit. For a while we had a garage although it went out of business and we lost a load of money in it. We were pretty poor, really, could barely make rent every month. Then my Granddad died and left us this huge windfall, and I mean _huge_. Suddenly overnight we had moved into this big house in the suburbs. We had a garden, a pool, and I had a room bigger than our old living room.

I thought it would make us happy. My Dad had always been an angry guy, always ready to explode. He’d get drunk and give me a smack when he was ranting, or swing at me with his belt when I talked back. And I thought it was because we didn’t have any money and he was always worrying about where we could get some. I thought that would change when we didn’t have to worry about money any more.

But for some reason it just got worse. And suddenly he always seemed to be angry at _me._ Like _I’d_ done something. It stopped just being a smack now and then and started to be something that he did every day.

Anyway, he got into politics and because he had the money and he could charm people - god can he charm people - he rose up really quickly. Suddenly I was having to get dressed up to go on these rallies and these press conferences. We had to ‘meet the people’ and get our photographs taken in front of new hospital wings and at polling stations.

And even though I had to be in public, standing next to him all the time, he kept hitting me. I had these big bruises and he actually made me take up lacrosse so that I could blame that. When I took up baseball he was furious because I couldn’t explain the injuries away as easily.

Shuck it, looking back I don’t know why I thought it was so normal. The whole family acted like it was nothing. My Mum would say: ‘Oh Thomas, you’re going to have to put some of my concealer on that bruise on your cheekbone, we’re off to a meal with such and such and it looks unsightly’.

After a while I just believed it, you know? I stopped even thinking of it as excuses, it seemed like the truth. I started believing that I’d got shouldered in the face in lacrosse, or walked into a cupboard door.

Then my Dad ran for Senator, and founded a company with my uncle that started raking more and more money in. He loved being a politician so much, we had more money than we’d ever had and the company was doing really well. But it was like it was making him unhappy. He was used to being a failure, he had been one all his life really, but suddenly he wasn’t failing any more. So he made _me_ the failure. I never did anything right. He told me I was devious, that I was stealing things, that I was spreading lies about him online. Really paranoid, crazy stuff.

And then it wasn’t just that he was hitting me and making up all this klunk about me, he suddenly started locking me in my room. He took away my phone and got me to give him all of my email passwords, even my school one. He had the login to my Facebook page. He could see what I was doing all the time and it was _always_ wrong.

Then he stopped letting me have dinner some nights. I’d come home from lacrosse and he had cleared away all of the food. He and Mum would eat but he wouldn’t make any for me. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen.”

The tears were pouring down Thomas’s cheeks and his hand was gripping Newt’s hard. There was a leaden lump in Newt’s throat, so tight he couldn’t breathe.

“You said I looked skinny when I turned up and yeah, that’s why. I have done for a while. I had to steal food at school. My friends shared their food, they thought I was just bad at remembering my money. I couldn’t tell them. I didn’t want them to know.

Then about a year ago we moved house and suddenly we were in a whole new city and I had no friends. And no way to talk to my old friends, because my Dad had changed all of my passwords and logins and I had no way to contact anyone.

And the thing that makes me more shucking angry than anything looking back is that it wasn’t like people didn’t see me. People who could have done something about it. My Dad got doctors to look at me, he told them he thought I was having a breakdown. And they came in and saw I was all skinny and just _believed_ my Dad when he said that I was refusing to eat. They saw all the bruises and cuts and just took his word for it that they were self-harm. And I didn’t dare say anything myself because he always came in to the room to see the doctor with me, even though he shouldn’t have been allowed to. He was a Senator after all, and none of them thought he could do any wrong.”

“Didn’t your Mum do anything?” Newt asked, his voice cracking badly at the edges.

“She’d checked out years ago. She had an injury in her hip from when I was born and she was always taking painkillers for it, even though I’m sure she didn’t need them. She had no idea what was going on, she was on a different planet. Or if she did notice anything, she decided not to do anything about it.

Then, and I guess it must have been a couple of months before I ran away, my Dad told me to go downstairs into the basement to help him shift some stuff. I was looking at all the boxes he told me he wanted moving and I didn’t notice him leaving.

He locked me in there. I thought it was a mistake at first, that maybe the door had just locked behind him. But no, he knew exactly what he was doing.”

Newt thought he was going to be sick. Thomas’s tears had stopped now and he was talking coldly, calmly, like he was telling a story he had heard on the news.

“He came down every now and then and brought me something to eat and drink. I tried to convince him to let me out, tried begging, tried forcing the door, everything. I heard him on the phone to his aide telling him I couldn’t attend the photo opportunities and the press stuff because I was recovering ‘from an illness’. But I was locked in our basement, in the dark, with this tiny toilet that hardly worked. I drank water out of the tap but I was so hungry. All the time. So shucking hungry.”

“How did you get out?”

“He was having some people around, some VIPs from party headquarters. So he dragged me out of the basement and made me get dressed into a suit. When they arrived these people didn’t even give me a second glance. How could they have _not noticed_? I mean, I hadn’t been out in the sun for over a month. I could barely stand up. And they just looked right through me.

My Mom sent me to the kitchen to ask for more drinks. I don’t think my Dad noticed that she had asked me. He had been keeping me close all night and I’m sure he never would have let me out of his sight. I went into the kitchen and all of the staff my Dad had hired for the night were outside having a smoke. The back door was open and I took my chance. I slipped out of the bottom of the garden and I just ran and ran and didn’t stop. I didn’t know where I was going, or when I was going to stop. Before I left town I snuck into the house of a kid from my school. I knew they were all out on vacation so I went and helped myself to some of his clothes. I hitchhiked, took the train without a ticket, walked, ran some more.

I got to Maze the morning before I met you. I wandered around for ages trying to find some food. I’d eaten more after running away than I had for weeks beforehand, but it was never enough. I kept passing out by the side of the road or spend a whole day not able to walk. But I managed to steal a wallet in Maze with some change in and I bought myself a sandwich at a café in town.”

Thomas stopped suddenly. Newt knew that this couldn’t be the end of the story. Thomas was still tight and jumpy, and squirmed on the spot as though he still had worse to say.

‘What the hell could be worse than this?’ Newt thought. He pressed his thumb gently against Thomas’s wrist, but the boy still seemed to be frozen.

“Tommy?”

Newt’s voice seemed to break him out of his spell. Thomas coughed and carried on, “I was eating when I saw two Grievers come in to the cafe. I didn’t know they were Grievers then, obviously. Just scary blokes in jumpsuits. I thought they were off duty policemen. Then I saw their armbands. Have you ever seen what they say?”

Newt blinked. He hadn’t expected the question.

“No.”

If he’d ever got that close to a Griever his first thought had never been to read what it said on their uniform.

“WCKD, that’s what they say.”

“What is that?”

Thomas bit down at the corner of his lip, hard enough that he could have drawn blood, “It’s my Dad and my Uncle’s company. It’s a private security firm they set up. The company gets contracts from all over America to do things that local police forces and companies don’t want to do themselves. Including the Grievers here in Maze. ”

Thomas looked up at Newt for the first time, “And that’s it. That’s everything.”

Newt swallowed heavily and pulled Thomas towards him. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly. He could feel the sharp reliefs of Thomas’s shoulder blades under his hands and the edged line of his jaw pressed against Newt’s neck. He felt completely boneless and deflated, and the only thing that made Newt know he was even conscious was his fast, trembling breathing in Newt’s ear and his hot tears on his shoulder.

“Gally has every right to be suspicious of me,” Thomas said, and his voice was high and broken as he held back the tears to speak, “My Dad _owns_ the people trying to ruin this place for everyone. And I’m selfish enough to risk it all.”

“He doesn’t know you are here, Thomas, and he’s not going to know.”

“I don’t know what to do. Newt, I don’t know what to do.”

Newt pulled him away and kissed away the tears and promised, through his own tears, that it didn’t matter, that he would help, that things would be ok.

It took a while but soon they were both dry eyed. Their faces were red and blotchy, Thomas’s especially, and Newt came up with a whole ream of pathetic excuses for them that made Thomas chuckle.

“If we say we got stung by a bee we can stand back and watch Gally start to cry. Or…we could tell them I ate a kiwi. I’m allergic to kiwis, they make my face blow up.”

“What? How the hell would you have eaten a kiwi out here? Anyway that doesn’t explain why I look like this,” Thomas said, laughing a little despite himself.

In the end they decided to sit back against the fence and stay there until their faces were good and ready to be shown in public.

Thomas sat beside Newt with his head against his shoulder, Newt’s hand stroking his hair softly. Thomas’s hand was on Newt’s lap where he traced patterns against his jeans.

“You didn’t deserve any of that, Tommy. You know that, don’t you? Please tell me you know that. You didn’t deserve any of it. But you do deserve the Glade. You deserve to be here with all of us and have the same second chance we do. It doesn’t matter who your Dad is, or who he owns.”

“You’ll have to tell Alby.”

“What?”

“Come on Newt, you have to tell Alby. You can’t not tell him. He needs to know.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I’ve been wanting to tell someone, to tell _you_ , since I arrived. I should have said something sooner.”

Newt wound his fingers through Thomas’s hair. He found the small hardening scar from the injury on the night they had met. Thomas shivered when he touched it.

“Yeah, you should have. But you hardly knew us in the beginning. You had no reason to trust us. And then Gally blew up at you about the posters.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying your sorry slinthead, nothing’s bloody happened has it? Thomas, there are other people here whose parents have the money and the influence to come down on us hard if they knew their kid was here. You are not the only one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I won’t pass on anyone else’s story but let’s just say there’s a guy here whose parents owns one of the biggest media companies in the Midwest. There’s another whose Dad is a Chief of Police, and of a city not that far away either. Stop feeling so guilty, you are not the only one.”

Thomas seemed to feel better after that.

It was all true, Newt wouldn’t have lied to him just to make him feel better. Thomas’s Dad was problematic, but other parents had been problematic in the past.

‘Minho’s family are arguably more problematic than Thomas’s ever could be,’ Newt thought ruefully. But they had dealt with it, and they would deal with Thomas’s.

“WCKD.”

“Yeah. That’s his company’s name.”

“What does it stand for?”

“No idea. My Dad never told me.”

“Sounds like ‘wicked’”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like your Dad named it after himself.”

Thomas chuckled against Newt’s shoulder, “Maybe that’s where the name came from.”

'He is wicked', Newt thought, 'anyone who did that to their son is a straight-up lunatic'. He squeezed Thomas tight to him.

 

* * *

 

Alby wasn’t impressed with Newt’s revelation about Thomas’s father. Newt had asked to see him somewhere private, and the two of them had chosen a far corner of the runway where some lean-tos had been built for baggage cars that were never bought.

It was where they had held most of their private meetings, sometimes with Gally and Minho, sometimes just the two of them.

“WCKD. That’s what it says on the Griever’s armbands, apparently, although I’ve never bothered to look myself. And that’s the name of his Dad’s company.”

“Shuck it.”

“By the time he got to trusting us enough to say something, Gally had already lost his head over the posters. He wasn’t rushing to admit it after that.”

“But he has now.”

“Well…yeah.”

“To you.”

“So what?”

“Nothing, Newt, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just mean, does he know that you are telling _me_?”

“He was the one that brought it up. He knows you should be told.”

Alby rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. He was a day past needing a shave, and didn’t look like he had been sleeping very well.

“The Glade is based on rules, Newt. We have them to make sure that no-one finds out we are here.”

“Thomas isn’t breaking any of those rules, Alby, it’s not his fault.”

Alby slapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, “I know, Newt, I know. I’m not going to kick him out.”

Newt nodded tightly. He was on edge, nervous. A part of him had feared Alby’s reaction. 

“Thanks Alby.”

“I’m not doing it for you, Newt.”

“No, I know,” Newt said, flushing red, “But…I know it’s difficult.”

They trudged back to the airport together, Alby deep in thought and Newt anxious to find Thomas. Before they reached the building Newt grabbed Alby’s sleeve.

“Wait, Alby. Look…can you not tell anyone about this, please?”

Alby chuckled, “You mean not Gally.”

“I mean no-one.”

“Fine, Newt. Look, we’ll leave it a couple of weeks and see if anything happens. If anything changes I won’t think twice about telling the rest of the boys, they’ll need to know. But if everything goes quiet…then we’ll leave it.”

“Thanks Alby.”

He watched Alby walk to the fire and greet the small circle of boys warming themselves by the flames. A knot of tension was released from Newt's shoulders. Alby hadn’t liked the revelation but he hadn’t hit the roof. This could all work out. He hoped.

Newt hadn’t realised that Gally had come over to him until suddenly the boy appeared at his shoulder.

“Shuck it, Gally, don’t creep up on a guy like that.”

“Your boyfriend was all red eyed and sad-looking earlier,” Gally said. He folded his arms across his chest, “You dumped him already?”

“Going to punch me in the face if I have, Gally? I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t care about that greenie at all. But you look like a kicked puppy as well.”

“Nothing to do with ‘us’,” Newt said, raising his finger in air quotes.

“Something to do with the fact an article about him appeared in the paper?”

Newt was aware that he was opening and closing his mouth but no words were coming out. Gally wasn’t looking at him; he had his arms folded tightly and he was staring off towards the boys at the fireplace.

“Gally-”

“Look, I know that I can’t talk, seein’ as I’m the one that lost my head at him about the posters. But…I get it. It’s not the guy’s fault.”

“You saw the article too?” Newt finally spluttered out.

“Yeah. Found your copy of it under the blankets in your bed. I was tightening up all the ropes for the hammocks and when I was doing yours, it fell out. I wondered why you were keepin’ it so secret, so I read it through and found the story about your boy ‘Tommy’.”

“Well thanks for that, Gally.”

Newt folded his own arms across his chest and tried his best not to rush Gally to say what he had to say. It seemed to be taking him a lot of effort to spit the words out.

“Anyway, like I said, I know I’m not one to talk but the guy can’t help who is father is. And he can’t help that his father is a douchebag. No-one can choose who they are related to.”

“No. You’re right.”

“I guess that’s what you were talking to Alby about?”

“Yeah.”

No point ruining Gally’s sudden goodwill by telling him about WCKD.

“Well for what it’s worth, I don’t hate the guy for what he did. I guess I just panicked that the posters meant they thought he was here. But I read the article. They have no clue, they’re just tryin’ everywhere.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stop glaring at him now?”

“Can’t promise anything.”

Newt scoffed, “You’re such a shank, Gally.”

Newt thought the conversation was over. He hoped it was: he had a pounding headache and he wanted to find Thomas, make sure he was ok. But suddenly a thought came to him.

“Wait, you called Thomas’s Dad a 'doucehbag'? How did you know that, just from reading the article?”

Gally sighed like Newt was cruelly twisting his arm, “Don’t tell Thomas that I told you this. But I met him and his Dad when I was a kid.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It was when I read the article that I remembered them. They owned a garage in my hometown.”

Newt started swallowing air again, “Are you buggin’ kidding me?”

“No. My Dad used to take some of his old cars there to get tuned up, and Thomas’s Dad ran the place. And I remember…” Gally rubbed a hand at the back of his head, clearly awkward about what he was about to say, “One time I went in with my Dad and I was bored, so I ran around the back to look at what they had in the junk yard. And I saw this kid about my age hiding by the back door. He looked terrified. And Alan Greener came burstin’ out of the garage shouting and yelling. He didn’t see me. He grabbed the kid and dragged him inside. I didn’t remember that until I made the connection from the article. But I guess that was Thomas. And I know well enough that Dads who beat their kids don’t grow out of it. Even if they do become Senators.”

Gally looked across at Newt with narrowed eyes.

“Guessin’ Thomas told you all about his Dad?”

Newt didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded his head.

“Thought so.”

Gally put a hand on Newt’s back, a comforting gesture that brought back memories of the days that Gally’s arms were the ones Newt wanted to be wrapped up in to distract him from the endless voices going round and round his head.

“See you around, Newt.”

And suddenly all Newt wanted - needed - was Thomas’s arms around him. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes - he wasn’t bloody crying, it was just the cold - and headed off to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure where this need to make Gally an ok-ish guy comes from, but there we go!
> 
> I hope that wasn't a let down for everyone.


	11. Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys find a solution to their food problems, and the Minho had a lesson for Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much once again for the lovely comments and kudos folks! 
> 
> I'm not entirely sure what this chapter is, it's a bit of a random one I have to admit. But hopefully something to tide us over until the next big thing comes their way ;) 
> 
> Rated M for a little bit of sauciness towards the end.

Minho had a devious look in his eye tonight and Newt didn’t like it. The cold of the fog had driven them all outside to the fire. Outside though it may be, this area was the warmest. The airport was large and echoing and would never have been warm in the winter even if it had been used for its actual purpose. Who ever went to airport with great central heating?

It was a few days after Thomas had told Newt about where he came from, and Newt was having a hard time pushing it out of his mind. He knew he had to, for Thomas's sake. He didn't want to be seen as a victim, as a poor boy that needed fattening up, but Newt found himself thinking it guiltily from time to time. He hadn't told Thomas what Gally had admitted to knowing. And Alby had seemed to keep his promise and no-one else knew the story about Thomas's Dad and the Grievers.

Newt shuffled under one of their blankets. Everyone had their blankets from their hammock piled high around them, and any warm clothes they owned were being warm. Newt had leant Thomas a large sweater he had stolen the year before, and Newt was wearing a hoody procured from Chuck's stores.

The pot for boiling water was at work constantly for endless cups of hot drinks. The boys were swapping stories or possessions, playing pranks or sharing out from the last few days’ runs (which wasn’t much). Newt was so comfortable that he never wanted to move. He was laid with his head in Thomas’s lap looking up at the fog and the patterns the fire threw onto the grey canvas. 

Or at least he _had_ been looking up at it. Now he was distracted by Minho. Eventually Newt snapped.

“Do do you want to come over here for a cuddle too Minho, is that it?”

A few of the boys in earshot tittered. Minho arched an eyebrow.

“Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Then what? Why are you staring?”

Minho just shrugged his shoulders.

 

Newt was later to discuss that Minho had something planned. It was not, though, for a cuddle with the new couple (much to Newt’s relief). In fact the surprise was for Thomas. The runners returned from their night in Maze and their bounty was lacking. Frypan looked down at what they got - he could hold it amply in one hand - and sighed. At that Minho leapt to his feet and grabbed Thomas’s shoulder.

“Come on greenie.”

Thomas was dragged after him and Newt, who had been unceremoniously dumped from Thomas’s lap onto the ground, scrabbled up to follow.

“Guys, where are you going?”

Minho frog-marched Thomas through the fog, and in parts it was so thick that Newt struggled to see them when they strode on ahead of him. His knee was giving him trouble and he had developed a noticeable limp over the past few days. By the time he caught up with Minho and Thomas, the scene was set.

Gally and Ben were stood next to a circle of sand trickled into the grass. Two of their best torches were hanging from stakes in the ground so that the ring was semi-lit. Alby was there too, a look of suppressed mirth on his face.

“Is this some weird initiation thing?” Thomas asked, “Because I wanna live here and all but I’m not getting naked and letting you tattoo me or anything. Or drinking any of your pee.”

Gally and Ben exchanged a look. Minho’s eyebrows had flown up to his hairline, “What the hell, greenie? I don’t want you drinking my pee. Or  _anything_ or mine.”

“Good,” Thomas said, with a flourish, as though he had won an argument. Newt clapped a hand to his mouth to stop a laugh falling out, “So what the hell _is_ this?”

“You want to be a runner, you have to prove that you can survive in Maze,” Minho said, “All the boys we have running into Maze are fast, that’s a given. But they have to be able to look after themselves too. For the younger ones we send in it isn’t so bad. They can hide easier, they’re not as recognisable. The older you get the more you stick out. You have to be able to protect yourself, and others too, if it comes to it. Got it?”

“Got it."

“Now, we know you are fast.”

“You better than anyone, hey Minho?” Ben chimed in. Minho flashed him a middle finger.

“Yeah, you’re fast. But we need to make sure that you can watch our backs, and your own, when we go into Maze.”

Thomas looked over his shoulder back towards the airport, now smothered from view by the fog.

“Anyone else have to go through this?”

“If they want to be one of our main runners, yeah.”

“Alright,” Thomas shrugged, “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

Newt was amazed that Minho had gone to all of this trouble. He tested Thomas out against Gally, then Ben, checking out his flaws and his assets. Whereas Gally and Ben had brute strength, Thomas was wilier and quicker. He could fight smart, not just with his fists. Despite the recent peace between them, Minho was wise not to let him and Gally fight for too long.

Then Minho took Thomas through a few moves they all knew well. How to target the soft, vulnerable parts of someone’s body. The inside arm, the neck, the solar plexus, between the legs, the knee, the ankle. Aiming for those with a hefty kick or punch was a good way to immobilise a Griever. Thomas took to it quickly and gamely.

Newt was impressed. If Newt had been made to do this back in the day he would have told the boys to shuck it.

Minho came to stand beside Newt as Alby demonstrated the best way to trip someone. He used Ben, and the boy’s ‘oofs’ rang into the fog.

“He’s good.”

Newt gave his friend an amused look, “Yes, Sensei.”

“Slim it, I’m just trying to make sure the guy is prepared.”

“I know, but since when did we do this sort of ‘training’ for runners?”

“Like I said to Thomas, it’s only for guys we want going in every other day. We did it with Ben.”

“Did we? I don’t even remember.”

“You were in Maze at the time. Gally and I just put him through his paces, like we are with Thomas.”

“You think he’ll be a good runner for us?”

“Definitely. He’s fast, he’s strong, and he’s not an idiot. Although the whole ‘falling for you’ thing put a cross against his name.”

“Ha-ha.”

Thomas let out a grunt as he was dumped to the ground. Newt enjoyed watching him fight like this. He had sand in his hair and, despite the earlier fun and games, his face was keen and concentrated, his eyes shone. 

“I guess I have to thank you for getting us together then, Minho.”

Minho looked very pleased at that, “Yes, I suppose you do.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Clear as day. At least Thomas’s feelings about you were. I wasn’t sure…you are hard to read, Newt. You keep your cards close to your chest. Unlike Thomas, who throws his cards around like confetti.”

They watched as Gally took great joy in wrestling Thomas and then tripped him over his leg. His triumph was short-lived when Thomas swung out a foot and knocked Gally to the ground.

“He was staring at you like a lovesick puppy. It was pretty obvious. I thought there was a chance you might like him back. You’re nice to everyone, Newt, but you are _never_ that touchy-feely with them.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I blame it on your Britishness.”

“Do you now?”

Minho punched him on the arm, “Anyway, don’t mention it. I only got him drunk, you and he did the rest. But I want an invite to the wedding. In fact, can I shotgun best man?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Minho tapped his head, “I can see into the future, Newt, and it’s full of the pitter-patter of baby Thomases and Newts.”

“Bug off,” Newt groaned and gave him a shove across the grass.

“Are you getting involved Newt?” Alby challenged across the lit circle. Ben and Thomas looked up from where they had one another in a headlock on the floor.

“Yeah come on Newt, show us what you are made of.”

Thomas smiled slyly at him and Newt reprimanded himself for the funny flip-flop his heart did at the sight.

“Ok.”

* * *

 

“Minho is mean,” Thomas moaned as he eased himself tenderly onto their hammock.

“I told you not to challenge him to a proper fight. I told you he’d kicked your arse.”

“Yeah, and he actually _kicked_ my _ass._ It shuckin’ _hurts_.”

Thomas stretched out the ‘r’ in ‘hurts’ until he had finally settled onto the hammock.

“Hurts, does it?”

“I don’t think I can sleep on my back tonight.”

“Roll onto your side.”

Thomas did as he was told with a lot of complaining and finally wiggled into a position that was more or less comfortable against Newt. He hummed into Newt’s shoulder and planted a kiss where his shirt had fallen forward.

“I, on the other hand, kicked _your_ ass.”

“You won _once.”_

_“_ We only sparred once. Which means I beat you 100% of the time.”

“Yeah well I have an injury picked up from saving _your_ arse the other week.”

“Can you two stop talking about each other’s asses please,” Gally said as he passed their hammock to his own.

Newt wanted to throw a pillow at him, but they were comfortable and he knew that the boy wouldn’t give it back to them.

When all of the others were snoring in their hammocks, Newt slid a hand under the covers and found the bruise that was hurting Thomas so much. Thomas had been half asleep and jumped awake at the touch.

“Hey, that hurts.”

“I thought you could do with a massage.”

“Oh really? You’re not just using this as a chance to fondle me in my sleep?”

“Would I do such a thing?”

Thomas lifted his head and their lips found one another’s in the dark. They were so busy with the kiss that they forgot where they were, and the moment was brutally interrupted by Minho throwing a shoe at them.

“Go to sleep you horny shanks!”

 

* * *

 

Newt crouched down low by the corner of the building and peered around the brickwork onto the street. It looked quiet, but he knew that there was a convenience store on this street that the Grievers frequented for a snack and a caffeine hit. He had to be careful.

_They_ had to be careful. Newt could hear Thomas’s heavy breathing behind him. They had sprinted most of the way down to the harbour and this was the first chance to catch their breath.

Newt cocked a head to listen. There was the unmistakable patter and snuffle of a fox somewhere, and in a flat high above them a baby was wailing.

It was Thomas’s first night on a run, and they were down by the harbour checking out the cafes and tourist traps for left over cones of chips and sandwiches. Anything would be appreciated in the cold and with the recent lack of food.

“Ok, I’m going to check the bins behind the library,” Newt said in a low voice to Thomas who had crawled up beside him.

“You check the ones behind that cafe. Stay away from that shop in the middle. We don’t need to bump into a Griever on his way to get a Mars Bar.”

Thomas nodded and the two of them set off. Newt had been anxious at the idea of Thomas coming in to town. His fears had been allayed somewhat by the ‘missing’ posters they had passed. They were all ragged from the wind and rain and no-one had bothered to replace them. Many of them had been torn down or pasted over for flyers about concerts, local meetings and protests about plans to build a new shopping mall.

He was still terrified about the idea of a Griever, though. He tried to push the thought of Thomas being carried off by one out of his mind.

Thomas met him at the harbour side and they sunk low against a lamppost to check their pickings. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“How are you feeling?” Newt asked as he sealed up his bag.

“It’s nerve-wracking,” Thomas said after a moment of thought.

Newt captured his lips in a kiss and stroked his thumb across his cheek, “Good. You need the nerves to stay safe.”

A keening whistle trembled through the air. It was Minho’s call to check in. Newt gave his own back, and across Maze others rose and fell in the fog.

“Is that everyone?”

“Sounds like it. We’ve got a lot more work to do though, we’d better get going.”

Newt didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until they all met up at the top of town. Minho clapped Thomas on the shoulder as the pair drew up, “How did your first run go Thomas?”

“Good.”

“Hey guys check this out!”

Winston and Clint had arrived and were dragging a bag between them.

“Look, look in the bag,” Clint whispered, too excited to explain. Minho strode over and opened it up, a lecture about carrying things that were too heavy on the tip of his tongue. But at the sight of what was in the bag the sternness on his face fell away.

“Oh jackpot,” he crowed.

“What? What is it?”

“A _pile_ of out of date beef.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Thomas said as he wrinkled his nose.

“Out of date for the people selling it, not for us. They always play it way too safe. Where did you find this?”

“Behind the butcher’s. Their bin hadn’t been locked up and this was just sat here.”

The boys high-fived and enthused quietly in the dark before Minho made them all shut up and head home.

Frypan greeted the meat enthusiastically, “Oh _meat,_ my old friend! Look at you. This is nice stuff guys, and _beef._ Normally the butchers wouldn’t cut all this up and let it go to waste.”

“Lucky day for us.”

“I am going to cook us something _nice_ tomorrow,” Frypan hooted, clapping his hands together in glee, "A meat feast."

Newt pulled Thomas away from the rest of the boys cheering over the idea of a 'meat feast'. They didn't stray too far from the fire: it was too cold and they were coming down from the adrenaline of the run. Thomas shivered slightly as he wrapped his arms around Newt's waist. 

"So what do you think, do I make a good runner?"

"You did great."

"And no Grievers."

"We were lucky."

"When will I be allowed to go around on my own? Not that I don't enjoy running behind you, thought. Nice view."

Newt tugged on Thomas's hair and the brunette yelped, "You have a dirty mind, Tommy."

There was nothing that Newt wanted to do more than drag Thomas into the airport and find a quiet spot for them to be together. The rest of the group, however, had other ideas. First Alby wanted Newt to help check out their stocks, and Thomas was dragged away by Minho to collect more firewood from the trees around the airport's perimeter. Then Newt had to help Chuck rescue a bird from one of the water butts on the roof before the stupid thing drowned and filled their washing water with disease. Once that was done Thomas still wasn't back. They didn't see one another until they rolled into the hammock that night, and all they had the time or the space to do was yawn, give one another a kiss goodnight, then fall to sleep and snore on one another's shoulder. 

 

* * *

 

The lack of privacy was starting to get to Newt. Kissing in the dark of their hammock was one thing if they could get away with it, but they rarely did. Frypan’s hammock was dangerously close to theirs on one side, and Minho’s on the other. Frypan slept like a log but Minho was quick to admonish the couple if he heard anything too romantic going on in the hammock.

It wasn’t like they had even _done_ anything in their hammock. They were both too embarrassed to even contemplate trying whilst only five yards away from their friends.

At first they thought they could recreate their time in the shower, but they always seemed to arrive as the place was buzzing and they didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable by getting close in a cubicle as the others had their morning showers.

The cafe on the top floor had become their romantic hidey-hole, but there was one problem: it was full of seagulls.

As the winter drew in the seagulls were getting more and more desperate to find a place to hide away from the worst of the weather. There was a shattered window in the bar area and that allowed the seagulls to hop in and nestle together on the bar. And crap everywhere.

“It’s not the most romantic place in the world, is it?” Thomas asked from where he was stretched out on one of the banquettes. He was shirtless and Newt was between his legs, lips on one of those delectable sweeps of muscle that went down into Thomas’s pants…

“Mind elsewhere, is it?” Newt asked, looking up from his position.

“No, sorry. I just…”

“What?”

“It’s kind of hard to concentrate when there are seagulls watching.”

Newt growled with frustration and lifted his head.

“None of them are staring.”

“One of them is.”

“Alright, one of them happens to be looking this way. He’s just making sure we are not going to eat him.”

Newt went back to the task in hand.

“I hate seagulls,” Thomas said.

Newt sighed against Thomas’s skin and decided the only way he was going to shut Thomas up was to go for the big guns. He slid fingers into Thomas’s belt and had the belt, fly and button undone before Thomas could react.

“That was quick.”

“I can be when I want to be.”

Newt helped him wriggle out of his pants, and Thomas certainly seemed to be back in the game. The banquette was covered in some hideous brown suede material and the back was stiff, high and only allowed for a narrow seat area. It was, though, much comfier than anywhere else they had found, and Newt was going to make it work whether it killed him.

In the time it took for him to get his mouth back to work, Thomas was talking again: “Now two of them are staring at us.”

“ _What_?”

“Look, those big fat ones. They are seriously staring at us.”

Newt let his forehead fall against Thomas’s body.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What? I don’t want to have a seagull watching us.”

“It’s a _bird_ , Thomas.”

“So?”

Newt sat back on his heels, picked up his shoe, and threw it in the direction of the seagulls. The cluster of birds - perhaps three or four - who had collected on the bar shuffled and squawked indignantly. But, mercifully, they all seemed to turn their backs on them.

Newt dipped his head again and soon Thomas’s mind was solely on where his mouth and hand was, and not on the birds.

Newt was just about to slide away the last barrier between him and Thomas’s completely naked body when Thomas stopped him.

“Newt.”

“What?”

“They’re staring again.”

Newt looked up and was alarmed to see that all four of the birds had turned towards them. But alarmed only because Thomas was holding him away.

“Tommy-”

“It’s really freaky, don’t you find that freaky?”

It was no use. Newt leant down and had to kiss Thomas’s attention away from the birds back to him. It seemed to work. Thomas was moaning against his mouth and the noise made all of Newt's blood rush south. Their bodies arched towards one another and Thomas threw his head back and made a desperate, surprised noise at the feel of Newt’s hand as it slid under the waistband of his underwear and made its presence known.

Newt only looked over to the bar area for a second, mostly to make sure that no-one had rumbled their privacy. What he did see made him stop.

“What? Newt, what is it?” Thomas asked, breathless. He was tensed because Newt’s hand had stopped too.

“Newt?”

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s just…”

Thomas looked over too and jumped, “Oh god. They really are staring.”

“I think there are more of them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m sure there were three or four before, now there’s like six of them.”

“Oh well, you were right Newt, it doesn’t matter,” Thomas said, gasping a little as he tried to move to relieve some of the tension in his aching cock, “You’re right, we shouldn’t let them distract us.”

It was the moan Thomas gave when he moved in Newt’s hand that brought his attention crashing back to his boyfriend and the task at hand (quite literally). All thought of the birds left his mind as Thomas slammed a hand over his mouth to keep the noise in as he came, and Newt kissed away the sweat on his skin as he lay panting in his arms.

“What about you?” Thomas asked breathlessly. Newt let Thomas help him out of his pants and the feeling of being pressed against Thomas without the coarse barrier of denim between them nearly sent Newt over the edge there and then. Thomas raised his own hips to meet Newt’s as he moved, but it wasn’t enough, Newt wanted to feel his skin on Thomas’s. He was knelt back to try and wrangle off his boxers when Thomas yelped.

“What, what?”

Thomas was pointing towards the bar, “There are more of them!”

Holy shuck, Thomas was right. There were at least ten seagulls on the bar now, all of them turning their beady bird eyes towards them. Newt swallowed heavily. That was disturbing to say the least. But he was achingly hard and Thomas was stretched out between his legs completely naked and beautiful in front of him, and that was all that Newt could think of.

“Tommy, please.”

“Right, right.”

When Newt came he bit down, harder than he had intended to, on the juncture of Thomas’s neck and throat. At first he thought he had hurt him with the way he cried out, and leapt up to apologise. But Thomas was looking at the bar area.

“Newt there are like fifty klunkin’ birds over there and they are _all_ looking at us.”

It gave Newt the fright of his life: there must have been twenty birds at least sat on the bar, completely silent and most definitely staring. Where the hell had they all come from?

“They’re like weird, pervert seagulls,” Thomas cried. Newt stuffed himself back into his boxers and grabbed his other shoe. He was sick of this. All he had wanted was a quiet moment with Thomas and here were these birds freaking the hell out of both of them. He chucked the shoe into the middle of the huddle and waved his arms.

“Go on, get lost!”

The plan in Newt’s head was that the birds would hop back out of the broken window that they had come through and get on their way. What he hadn’t expected was for the whole flock of them to take to the wing and fly right at him. He threw his arms over his head as the beating of wings and flurry of feathers passed over him. Some of them hit him, others just brushed past, but they had disappeared screaming to the other end of the bar where another small aperture allowed them to hop into the fog, Newt was covered in feathers and bird crap.

He turned to Thomas who was still sat completely naked on the banquette, his mouth open. He wrinkled his nose.

“You might want to take a shower, Newt.”

 

 


	12. The meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's worried about Newt, and he doesn't appreciate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst guys!! Thank you for the lovely comments, and I hope that everyone likes it.

“Hey Newt, don’t miss the meat feast later buddy.”

Frypan raised a hand for a high-five and Newt responded automatically, despite the confused look on his face.

“The what?”

“The meat feast. I’m going to cook up that beef tonight. It’s going to be great, it’s going to be a-”

“Meat feast. Yeah, I get it now. We’re not using it all though, are we?”

“Nah, Alby told me to keep half aside, but I’ve got enough to make a portion for everyone.”

Newt waited until Frypan’s footsteps disappeared outside of the airport. He glanced around at him, at the echoing departures lounge that seemed darker than the night outside. The moon was out and the fog had - for the first time in weeks - cleared completely. The moon came in through the high windows of the airport in a blue-white smudge, lighting only the reliefs, the corners and the edges of the check in desks beside him. A boy had left his underwear over one of the luggage belts that would have carried checked baggage off to the plane. Newt wrinkled his nose at it. Every time Newt thought he had cleaned up after everyone, one of them always ruined it.

He found Jeff in his tiny medical area, crunching on an apple.

“Hey Jeff.”

“Hey, Newt. You ok?”

“I know you don’t have many of them, and you keep a tight hold of them, but could you spare me some painkillers?”

Jeff jumped to his feet and fiddled with the small chest he kept his supplies in. His parents had both been doctors, his brother an EMT, and Jeff had been aiming to work in medicine ever since. That was really the only reason that they had designated him ‘Glader doctor’. He had some experience from his family, but he had no training. Still, he was a sensible boy with a lot of common sense, and sometimes that was just what the Gladers needed.

Newt was surprised that Jeff had jumped up so quickly to give him the pills. He waved away most people and kept them reserved for only the worst of the pain. 

“Sure, Newt, what’s ailin’ you?”

“Just did something to my knee the night Thomas arrived. Not really got any better.”

“Yeah, I noticed you were limping some. You should have come earlier.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Newt mumbled with a shrug of the shoulders. It wasn’t true - it hurt like hell - but he wasn’t about to admit that he had been hobbling around on a bad knee for weeks and done nothing about it. Thomas had offered to massage it for him a few times but the actual massaging often got left behind and then they both became distracted…

“Yeah well you should put some ice on it if it’s not getting better.”

“You ever seen any ice around here?”

Jeff thought for a moment as he counted out two tablets, “Wait until it snows?”

Newt took the pills and knocked them back with some water.

“Thanks, Jeff.”

“No problem.”

Newt managed to suppress his jump of surprise at the sight of Minho waiting for him as he left Jeff’s corner.

“Knee hurting?”

“No,” Newt said, automatically. It was a stupid thing to say because if anyone would notice that something was wrong with him it was Minho, and if anyone was going to not let Newt bullshit his way out with an excuse, it was Minho.

Minho cocked an eyebrow.

“Alright, it hurts.”

“You’ve had it since Thomas arrived.”

“I got knocked down when I was trying to help him. My knees hit the cobbles. One of them healed, the other one hasn’t. It’s not a big deal, it’ll get better.”

Newt tried to pass his friend but Minho stuck out a hand and pressed it flat against Newt’s chest. They stood there for a moment, Newt feeling Minho’s hot palm burn through his shirt and Minho’s stare burn through his story.

“Newt, if you need some time off running, just tell us.”

“I don’t need time off anything.”

“No-one would blame you-”

“No, but I _would._ We barely have enough food to keep us going, we _need_ runners going into Maze as often as we can-”

“We have twenty plus boys here, Newt. Let the rest of us pick up the slack a bit. If you run yourself into the ground and your knee gets completed messed up, you are never going to be able to run for us again. Don’t hurt yourself for us.”

Newt turned to look Minho in the eye, “I’m not an invalid, Minho. I don’t need the rest. I’m fine. Stop being so worried about me all the time, I am not made of china.”

Minho looked him up and down, “Didn’t say that, did I?”

“Then stop fussing.”

“You’ve not been sleeping, either. Oh don’t give me that look, Newt, I’m not blind. Everytime I roll over in the night you are lying there, awake.”

“No I am not.”

“You are. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I thought when you and Thomas got together and you had him to cuddle you might start sleeping better.”

“Seriously, Minho-”

“I am just looking out for you, ok Newt? You are one of my best friends, and I am not going to let you get ill just because you are too stubborn to look after yourself.”

“I’m not going to get ill, Minho. Ok? My knee is fine, it will wear off eventually. It’s not like I’ve broken the damn thing. And I am sleeping fine enough. There is _nothing_ to worry about.”

Minho sighed.

“I promise you, Minho.”

“Fine. Fine. Have you told Thomas?”

“About what?”

Minho made a vague motion with his hand, “You know…”

“No, I haven’t. Why should I? I just told you, I’m fine.”

“But what about…if you get tired I thought it-"

“You thought wrong.  _That_ doesn’t affect me anymore. Ok?”

Newt pushed through Minho’s hand and passed his friend out of the airport.

 

* * *

 

‘The meat feast’ was delivered as promised. Newt hadn’t seen Thomas most of the day and he was happy to be sat close with him at the fire. They had one of their blankets draped over their shoulders and Thomas was laughing, eyes bright and wide. Newt loved to see him laugh. It was a world away from the look on his face from the other day, the tightness in his face as he kept in the pain.

Newt leant in to kiss Thomas on the ear, and Thomas jumped.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can I help you?”

“You look adorable.”

“Do I now?”

“Yes.”

“Well you’re going to have to take your eyes off me for a second, because Frypan is trying to pass you some food.”

Newt looked up and forced back a bush at the sight of Frypan standing over him proffering a plate.

“Oh, thanks Frypan.”

It was the first time they had eaten meat for so long that Newt didn’t hesitate to tuck in. He zoned out the talking, and Thomas’s teasing, and Gally’s argument that ‘zombies could beat a vampire hands down’, and enjoyed the first proper meal he had had in weeks.

He was halfway through when he felt the first twinge. Not in his knee this time, but in his stomach. He drank some water and ignored it. He ate some more food to cover it, but it didn’t seem to get better. The twinge became an ache.

Newt lifted the tin cup he was sharing with Thomas but it was empty. Maybe he had eaten or drunk too fast.  

He groaned. It was a sharp, involuntarily noise. He found it difficult to hide the pain his face when Thomas leant close to him, his hand sliding to the small of his back.

“Newt, are you ok?”

“Watch out, Newt’s going to blow,” Chuck hooted across the fire. Newt laughed too, tightly, but Thomas could see the weakness in the smile and the way his eyes narrowed sharply.

“Newt?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Except he wasn’t. He put down the food and wrapped an arm around his stomach. He felt sick all of a sudden, but there was a hot stabbing sensation that was a pain he’d hadn’t felt before. It was like someone was trying to burn him from the inside out.

Thomas leant in close and slid a hand on to the bare skin of his back. The others had gone back to conversation; the general opinion now was that in fact vampires would beat zombies.

“Stomach ache?” Thomas asked, rubbing Newt’s back gently.

“Yeah.”

“Want some water?”

Newt shook his head. He didn’t want to move. It hurt too much to move. He felt hot, too hot, and suddenly all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

“Newt you’ve gone white.”

Newt let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The pain wasn’t getting any better, it was getting worse. He looked down at the plate of food he’d placed between his feet and finally the panic in his head gave way to clarity. He knew what the problem was. 

“Guys, don’t eat it. Stop, stop eating any of the meat.”

Frypan and Gally, who were just about to tuck into the food, looked up from their plates.

“Put it down.”

“What, why? Newt, what’s-”

“They did it again. They did it again,” was all Newt could say. He wanted to knock the plates from their hands, why weren’t they putting it down?

Alby was the first one to get it. A look of horror dawned on his face.

“No-one eat the food.”

Now everyone was wide-eyed.

Thomas turned his head from one Glader to the other, trying to work it out through their faces. His own plate was untouched at his feet.

Frypan’s voice was a panicked whisper, “They shuckin’ did it again.”

“What? I don’t get it, what’s going on?” Thomas said, the only one with no idea what the hell was happening. Newt’s skin was burning under his touch and he could feel the boy shaking as he seemed to crumple in on himself.

“They poisoned the meat,” Alby said, not taking his eyes off Newt.

“ _What_?”

“We should have shucking known there’d be meat left out like that for a reason,” Gally snapped, jumping to his feet as though he could knock the poison down with his bare fists.

“Poisoned meat?”

“It’s happened before. They leave things out too good for us to pass over and they put rat poison in it.”

Newt’s face was white. He left for the bathroom as the group rose in an uproar.

“Who else ate it?”

“I only had a bite.”

“Shuck, Gally, better go throw up. Don’t want that stuff inside you.”

“Anyone else have any?”

“What do they think we are, animals? How can they get away with doin’ that?”

“What are we going to do?”

Thomas left them shouting at the fireside and followed Newt to the stall where he was vomiting up the contents of his stomach. Newt clamped his eyes shut and tried his best to breathe, but everything from the pit of his stomach to his throat was on fire.

Feeling useless and barely able to breathe with the panic Thomas knelt beside him and put a hand on the back of his neck.

“Newt, how much did you eat?”

“Almost all of it,” Newt groaned into the toilet bowl. He had got on with eating whilst the rest of them talked.

Minho came ricocheting around the corner into the bathrooms like he was running away from a Griever. Alby was quickly behind him, then Gally, and finally Jeff slipped in before Alby slammed the door to gawkers.

“What the hell do we do?” Gally said, rounding on Jeff. Jeff raised his hands.

“You guys realise that I’m not an _actual_ Doctor don’t you?!”

Newt was still throwing up and one of his hands gripped tightly to Thomas’s wrist. With a growl Thomas slammed the door to the cubicle shut behind them for the sake of some privacy for Newt. 

“So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“We need to call 911.”

“Think about that for two seconds Jeff!”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

“Well if he’s thrown all of it up then maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Thomas put his hand on Newt’s shoulder and turned him towards him.

“Newt. Look at me.”

Newt’s gaze was glassy and his skin still burning until Thomas’s fingers. He wasn’t sure where he was. His mind was swimming, as though someone had flushed it away completely. There was something sticky on his chin.

Thomas kept Newt’s head towards him: the boy didn’t need to look down at the toilet bowl and see how much blood was in there.

“You’ll be fine, ok. We’ll get you help.”

Newt blinked back at him slowly. He needed to say something, he knew he had to. The pain seemed to have reached his head now, so that a loud clanging had replaced any rational thought. Still, he had to tell Thomas something.

“George.”

“What?”

“George,” Newt said, his voice a croak, then he passed out.

“Guys, help me!” Thomas called through the door.

They carried Newt to his hammock. Chuck was the only other person that Gally hadn’t succeeded in scaring away, so the younger boy ran around helping them set up some light for them to see by.

Newt was hot but shaking, so they got a towel wet with cold water and tried to cool him down. He swam in and out of consciousness, groaning when he was awake, hand gripping his stomach, tears leaking out the corner of his clamped shut eyes.

“Alby we need to do _something,”_ Thomas said desperately, “We can’t just sit here and watch him.”

“He doesn’t have any insurance, at least not as ‘Newt the Glader’. If he goes to a hospital in Maze then they’ll know exactly who he is and call the Grievers on him.”

“Alby look at him! We can’t leave him like this, he’s not just going to get better on his own.”

None of them answered. Gally paced the sleeping area fitfully, Minho stood with his hands on his hips and his face impassive, and Alby was scratching at the side of his head, thinking. None of them knew what to say.

“We have to take him somewhere,” Minho said, eventually, “Thomas is right.”

Newt was crying out now with the pain. Thomas grabbed his hand for him to squeeze but he was too weak to even do that.

“Where is the nearest hospital?”

“Thomas-”

“I’ll take him if none of the rest of you will. I’ll go in with him and I’ll get him out if things go wrong. But you’ve got to tell me where the nearest place is, I have no clue.”

Thomas turned to look up at the three of them. The three longest standing Gladers shared a glance. Something inside Thomas snapped, “Stop just standing there, what the hell is wrong with you!? This is Newt and something is wrong. You don’t think he’d have you on the way to the hospital by now if this had happened to you?!”

Then Jeff piped up: “There’s a new clinic in town.”

“What? Jeff, where?”

“It’s on the other side of town by the church. I’ve been stealing some supplies from there when I can. It says outside that it’s run by a charity. They might…I dunno, maybe they won’t be so concerned that he doesn’t have health insurance. Maybe they won’t ask so many questions.”

Newt threw his head back as a painful spasm ran through him. Thomas couldn’t look at him like this any more.

“We’ll take him there then. Guys help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how poisoning works bar a quick google search, so that was probably very medically inaccurate!


	13. Patience and panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tries to get Newt the help he needs. He's going to look after him for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again the comments are just amazing!! Thank you everyone, it's the best fuel ever. I hope everyone loves the hurt/comfort as much as I do! Sorry if there are a few mistakes, just want to get this up before I go to sleep on my laptop!!

The three Gladers seemed to have snapped out of their trance. Newt was light enough to be carried by one of them at a time bridal-style, so Thomas pulled him into his arms and  Jeff gave Alby instructions on where to find the clinic. He was the last thing Thomas saw before the group descended into the fog. He was sure he saw Jeff wave a hand as they disappeared. 

The walk was long and he had to give Newt to Minho when his arms turned to lead. Newt seemed completely out of it at first, but now and then would wake up and panic.

‘He must think he’s being taken away’ Thomas thought as he soothed Newt gently, holding onto his head and kissing his fevered brow as they walked. They couldn’t stop to try to explain everything to Newt, there wasn’t time.

They had to be careful the closer they got into town. When Minho took over carrying Newt, Gally and Alby ran ahead to check the coast was clear. Thomas hoped and prayed at every turn that there wasn’t a Griever lying in wait. But he knew that if there was a night that he couldn’t be pushed, it was tonight. With Newt ghostly pale and in agony he would have done anything to protect him. He knew that the same was true for the others.

“He said something to me, Minho,” Thomas said as they waited for Gally and Alby to check the coast was clear. He had just handed Newt back over to him and Minho was looking down at his friend in his arms like he had no idea what was happening.

“What?”

“Back at the Glade he said…he said ‘George’ to me. Whose George?”

Minho's brows knitted together.

“Guys, come on,” Gally hissed from around the corner. Thomas helped Minho reposition Newt and they followed the sound of Gally’s voice down the quiet high street.

“Right at the beginning of the Glade there was Alby. Then a guy called George, then Gally and me and Newt.”

“What happened to George?”

Minho didn’t look Thomas in the eye. He was staring down at Newt.

“He…he ate poisoned meat. We didn’t even know that people would do that to us back then. George said he felt ill but he just thought it was dodgy stuff. We all had separate food that night so we thought the same. He went to bed early and the rest of us went on a run into Maze, didn’t come back until early hours of the morning. When we got back George was dead in his hammock.”

Thomas thought he couldn’t feel any more panicked than he already did. It felt like someone had punched through his ribcage and was gripping onto his heart.

Minho caught his eye, “Thomas, that isn’t going to happen to Newt. There must have been shit loads of poison in George’s meat to do that to him so quickly. And Newt’s going to get help. He’ll be fine.”

Thomas knew Minho was saying that to comfort himself as much as he was to comfort Thomas.

“Yeah. I know.”

It seemed like hours until they reached the clinic Jeff had talked about. It wasn’t in a new building but the sign outside was fresh and glossy. The posters in the darkened front windows certainly gave the impression it was a charity. They lay Newt on the ground with his head in Thomas’s lap and Alby beat his fist against the door.

Minho, Gally and Alby jumped down the steps and back onto the road.

“I’m staying with him,” Thomas said. And the other three looked like they were about to argue, or tell him that they should all stay, when Thomas continued, “Go. Go on, all of you, go. I’ll stay with him. If something goes wrong there’s no point all five of us being taken away.”

They all looked torn. Gally’s fists were bunched at his side and Minho looked completely crestfallen. Alby looked grim and angry. They both stared down at their best friend lying stretched out on the step, then the door to the clinic rattled. 

“Go,” Thomas said, and finally the three of them ran.

The door to the clinic opened up a crack and a head poked through. Shoulder length black hair tumbled downwards over the girl’s face. She swept it back and pushed the door open more.

“Can you help him?” Thomas said, his voice high and cracked, “Please. He needs help.”

The girl disappeared and he heard a voice shouting into the building, “We need a gurney by the front door please!”

The door opened wide and the girl knelt down beside Newt.

“What happened?”

“He ate poisoned meat. I don’t know what it was, maybe rat poison, I don’t know.”

“Do you know how much he ate?”

Thomas tried his best to remember and show the size between his spread hands, “Like, a portion. I don’t know. He’d eaten most of it by the time his stomach started hurting.”

There was activity in the building behind her but the girl was keeping her eyes focussed on Newt, her voice calm and steady. Thomas realised she had her hand on his arm. It was a comforting, anchoring squeeze.

“Has he vomited at all?”

“He was throwing up for ages. It was just blood at the end.”

A light flashed on and Thomas had to turn his head away. Hands reached down through the light and scooped Newt up, and he almost grabbed hold of them to knock them away but then the girl’s voice came through the confusion again, soft and authoritative, “It’s ok, we’ll look after him. Just let the doctors take a look at him.”

By the time his eyes had adjusted to the light they were wheeling Newt away. The girl gently guided him to his feet and ushered him inside.

It smelt like a hospital but was much, much smaller. It looked like it could have been a barren community hall in a future life but now there was a small waiting room and it was partitioned into square rooms. There seemed to be only one floor and few staff around.

“Why don’t you come and sit with me for a minute?”

“Wait, where are they taking him, I have to-”

“They’re just checking him over, it’s best if you let them do their job.”

She steered him towards the small waiting room and he collapsed onto one of the chairs.

“Let me make you a drink.”

There was a small countertop with an old kettle and a collection of sad, stained mugs, and the girl made both of them a cup of coffee. When she passed the mug it felt good to have something to do with his hands now that he couldn’t soothe Newt. She sat down beside him and flashed him a smile.

“My name’s Teresa.”

“I’m Thomas.”

“And what’s your friend’s name?”

Thomas swallowed and glanced around at the room they were in.

“Er…Newt.”

He expected her to quiz him more but she simply wrote something on a clipboard on her lap.

“Do you know if Newt has insurance?”

“I…I mean he might do, with his family, and under another name. But not…”

“It’s alright, Thomas, you don’t need to explain. I’ll just say no for now and then we can work it all out later.”

“How long are they going to be?” Thomas asked, wanting to get to his feet and find Newt.

“They’ll let you know as soon as possible, Thomas.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Me? No, I’m just a volunteer here. I’m still only at high school.”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Will he be ok?” Thomas asked. He didn’t mean his voice to sound like that, all scratched and wobbling, but he couldn’t help it.

“I’m sure he will be, Thomas.”

She filled in the sheet and the two drank coffee, although Thomas couldn’t taste a thing. She left him for a while to go and speak to a doctor and Thomas sank his head into his hands.

The adrenaline had started to subside. He could feel his hands trembling in his hair. The thought came to him a terrifying flash: what would I do without Newt?

They’d known each other for weeks and yet he was the only one he had poured his heart out to. Newt knew the things about him that had always made him feel shameful, but somehow in Newt’s hands hadn’t felt anything like that. The intensity of feeling when he saw Newt was something he had never felt before. Just catching the corner of that sly smile, or the side of his slim but strong arms, or hearing the soft rolling British accent in a far corner of the airport: it all made the terrifying puzzle that had been scattered in Thomas’s mind come together neatly.

There was no use in covering it up: he cared deeply about the boy. How it happened so quickly, Thomas didn’t know. He was an innately trusting person, the sort who had to see the good in people. Of course he did. He’d lived with a man like his Dad for years and forgiven him again and again - stupidly - for everything he had done.

 

The wait seemed interminable. But finally a tired but smiling doctor appeared around the corner with Teresa.

Thomas leapt to his feet, “Is he ok?”

“We’re sure he will be given time. You can come and see him now if you want.”

It smelt even more like a hospital down at the end of the corridor. Only one other room was occupied, by an elderly man who was shouting at a doctor to get the ghost out of his room. Thomas didn’t relax until he saw Newt with his own eyes. He was on a drip and they had taken off his shirt. There were fingermarks against his stomach where the doctors had been poking and prodding. He looked even smaller in the middle of the huge bed, and white as milk against the covers.

“We’ve given him some activated charcoal that should stop anything filtering into his blood stream. He’s on the heart monitor just to make sure his pulse is nice and steady, he’s doing well so far. From what you told Teresa it sounds like he vomited most of it up, and we’re confident there shouldn’t be much left. We’re also rehydrating him and we’ve given him some sedatives to help him sleep.”

Thomas tried to pay attention to what the doctor was saying but all he could concentrate on was holding Newt’s hand. He stared down at the body stretched out on the bed with hot, wet eyes. It looked so different to the one that lay next to him in his hammock at night. Different to the one that he had caught sight of in the showers, different to the one that so confidently moved and shifted as he ran, nothing like the one that Thomas felt under his fingers when they found a moment alone. 

Newt’s hair was curled at his temples and was stuck there with sweat. Thomas ran a hand through the blonde mass to smooth it down a little. The doctor had left and only Teresa stayed at the doorway.

“Do you need anything, Thomas?”

“Me? Uh, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Ok.”

“Can I stay with him?”

“Of course you can.”

She left them to it and Thomas pulled up a chair so that he could sit at Newt’s side. He wished he had some way of contacting the Gladers. They would be worried sick about Newt. Thomas still _was_ worried sick about him, but it was easing now as Newt slept heavily under the watch of doctors. If anything happened now they would be able to help. They weren’t on their own anymore.

Thomas went to sleep bent forward in the chair with his head pressed against Newt’s arm. He had nightmares about Grievers taking Newt, about hands keeping him back as they dragged Newt away from him, and that the gentle beeping of various machines around the hospital were the tick, tick, tick of the Griever’s devices.

 

* * *

 

 

Thomas stood by the door to the clinic fidgeting from foot to foot. He had pacing up and down the corridor again and again for the past half an hour. He’d walked the same little route dozens of times: down the corridor, to the fire-escape where he’d place a hand against the cool outer door, along the corridor, around the waiting room, then back along the corridor again.

They were checking Newt over again. Teresa said it was normal, to check the amount of drugs they were giving him were what he needed. Thomas ran a hand through his hair and let out a groan. He needed a shower, food, some sleep that wasn’t in the position collapsed from the waist up onto a hospital bed. It had been 24 hours since Newt had been taken ill. The Doctors had assured Thomas that he was out of the woods. The drugs were doing their job to keep the poison out of his system and he was having no further bad reactions.

The next stage now was letting him wake up naturally. The doctors didn’t want to keep him under for too long.

Thomas rocked his head back and peered up at the ceiling. There was a sorry child’s balloon deflating in a corner.

“Thomas?”

Thomas turned and something in his neck click.

“Ah, ah,” he said, putting a hand up to it. Teresa laughed.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump.’

“No, no it’s ok. I was just…do you know how long they are going to be?”

“Not much longer. I just wanted to ask you something.”

They sat down on the faded waiting chairs. Thomas wondered how they had got so worn when this place had supposedly only just opened. Maybe they were second hand. Was that hygienic, putting second-hand chairs into a clinic waiting room? Then he wondered why the hell his mind was dwelling on that sort of stuff. Why couldn't he concentrate? 

“Shoot.”

“I just wanted to know how Newt ingested the poison.”

Thomas blinked. He was feeling the affects of poor sleep, but he was sure he remembered telling them this when he had brought Newt in.

“He ate it. In some meat. I thought I’d-”

“I know, I know,” she put a hand on his forearm. It was the same reassuring touch she had given him the day before, “They just want to make sure.”

She glanced over her shoulder to indicate the doctors further down the corridor. Or: doctor, singular. There was only one on duty that night. Thomas had learnt from conversations with Teresa that staff-shortages were an everyday challenge.

“He ate it. It must have been in the meat we all had.”

“A group of you ate it?”

“No, no, no-one else had got around to eating it. Just Newt.”

Thomas realised that he was stepping into dangerous territory here. He couldn’t let anything slip about the Gladers. Even though they seemed willing to help, and no-one had pressed him yet on Newt’s full name or where he came from, he could never be sure.

“So Newt was the only one that ate it?”

“We were all _going_ to, but we hadn’t got round to it yet. He just started earlier than the rest of us.”

Thomas shuffled on his seat, hesitant to look at her.

“Thomas, I’m not trying to-”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Thomas said, throwing his hands up, “What does it matter? He’s fine now, isn’t he?”

“He is, Thomas.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

Teresa bit down on her lip, clearly conflicted and thinking things through.

“Meat laced with rat poison is very rare. It was clearly deliberate. Someone did this intentionally to Newt. And sounds like they were trying to do it to all of you.”

Thomas’s jaw tightened. He had tensed up all over. He hoped it was clear to Teresa that he didn’t want to talk about this.

“Yeah, well. Some people are lunatics, aren’t they?”

“You have to wonder who would do that to some teenage boys?”

“I don’t know. Why not ask _them_?”

“Maybe we could, if we know where the meat came from.”

Thomas jumped to his feet and was about to say something - he didn’t know what - when the doctor reappeared. He looked flustered.

“We may need your help.”

Then Thomas heard it: a frightened yell from Newt. He left Teresa behind in an instant and rushed into Newt’s room before the doctor even explained what the problem was.

The problem was clear enough when Thomas arrived. Newt had wedged himself into a corner of the room and was trying his best to push himself even further back into it. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with panic and he was screaming at the orderlies stooped overhead to get off him.

“Wait, stop!” Thomas said as he shot forward. One of them had Newt’s arm in his grip, trying to lift him up, and Newt was doing his best to rip him off. There was blood spotted on the white hospital pants they had put him in and smeared the pale skin of his naked torso.

One of the orderlies turned and tried to hold Thomas back but the doctor shouted across the melee, “Let him, let him.”

Newt kicked out a leg and the second orderly ‘oofed’ into a crumpled heap. Thomas used it as his chance to jump in.

“Newt, Newt, stop, it’s me, it’s Thomas.”

Newt didn’t seem to hear or see. He was in such a state of panic that he couldn't see that it was Thomas, his Tommy, not a faceless medic trying to take him away. Because that must be it, Thomas thought, Newt was sure he was being taken away. He thought that he was living out that fear ingrained into all of the Gladers. 

“Newt, you’re alright, calm down, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

At first Newt continued to scream and kick, wouldn’t let Thomas touch him. There were words in there but they made no sense. It was just fear and terror and Thomas tried his best to pierce through it to get to Newt.

“Newt, it’s ok, it’s me, it’s Thomas.”

Thomas could feel the doctor and orderlies behind him, ready any moment to give up on the hope Thomas could stop this and step in. But finally Thomas managed to get hold of Newt’s hands and pulled them down, pressing them hard against his chest. With Newt’s hands clutched in one of his, Thomas used the other to cup Newt’s face gently.

“Newt, Newt, look at me.”

Newt’s eyes were bloodshot and tear-filled, but they finally seemed to see Thomas. He blinked and a track of tears rushed down his cheeks.

“Thomas.”

“Yeah it’s me, it’s me Newt.”

“No, no, don’t let them.”

“Newt, it’s ok, no-one’s going to do anything.”

“No, I don’t want them to. I don’t want-” Newt was saying through gasping breaths, not taking his eyes off Thomas but still trying to move, push, wriggle back into the wall.

“Newt no-one is going to take you anywhere. They’re looking after you. It’s ok, Newt, you’re ok.”

“Tommy,” Newt gasped, his breaths sharp and shallow. Suddenly the pain was clear on his face.

“Newt come on, come and sit back on the bed. No-one’s going to hurt you, they just want to look after you. You were sick, do you remember?”

Newt mumbled something under his breath. His words crashed against one another and Thomas had no idea what it was saying. 

“Hey hey, it’s ok.”

Thomas let go of Newt’s hands and pulled Newt to him. Newt let him, finally sinking against Thomas’s chest, pale and completely exhausted with wet cheeks and red eyes. Thomas whispered in his ear again and again that he was ok, that he was safe and everything was alright.

 

* * *

 

The doctor said it was the best thing to let Newt rest, but Thomas refused to leave his side. Newt seemed to relax when the orderlies left but was still so out of it. Exhaustion, the painkillers and the lingering effect of the sedatives made him light-headed and confused. He was tense and snappy when the doctor cleaned up the wound bleeding onto his white hospital trousers. The IV drip had snapped out of his arm when he had thrown himself out of the bed.

When the doctor was done, Thomas insisted that they were alright by themselves. Teresa still hung by the door. She looked like she was about to speak but the doctor put a hand on her shoulder as he left, and she backed away too.

“Tommy,” Newt said, quietly. He was looking down at his arm where he was hooked back to the drip, “What happened to me? Did I have a fit?”

“What?”

“Did I have a fit? I don’t remember.”

Thomas frowned as he sat down gently on the side of Newt’s bed. Newt looked exhausted. He needed to sleep, but Thomas knew that he wouldn’t until something started to make sense in his sleep-deprived, drug-addled brain.

“No, you didn’t Newt. You ate meat with poison in it. Do you remember? Frypan’s meat feast. The beef from the butcher’s. It was laced with something, rat poison or something.  We brought you down here to this clinic. Do you remember?”

“You can’t bring me here,” Newt said firmly, shaking his head, “If you do that the Grievers will…they’ll find us.”

“Newt you’ve been here for a day already. They’re not going to call the Grievers on us. They’re a charity. They just want to help.”

“I don’t have insurance.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Thomas leant forward and kissed him softly on the cheekbone, where his pale skin was still wet from tears, “You’ll be fine.”

Newt scrubbed at his eyes and hair. He looked dishevelled, scrawny and lost. He could have been ten years old.

“You’ll have to call my Dad.”

“What? Newt, what do you mean?”

Newt closed his eyes suddenly and rested his head back, “Can you lie down with me Tommy?”

Thomas kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed without a second’s thought. He made sure he stayed away from any of the equipment and wriggled awkwardly on his side. He slid his arm under the back of Newt’s head and positioned himself lengthways against Newt.

“Get some sleep, Newt.”

“My stomach hurts.”

“No wonder. You puked up half your bodyweight.”

“Why was I sick?”

Thomas landed feather kisses on Newt’s temple and hairline, “It’s ok Newt, just get some sleep.”

“If I have had another fit my Dad will kill me.”

Thomas frowned, but didn’t stop stroking Newt’s face gently with his fingertips.

“Just go to sleep. It’s ok, Newt, its ok.”

* * *

 

When Thomas nudged open the back door Minho was there.

“Minho.”

“We got your message. He’s ok?”

Thomas had slipped out of the clinic in the early evening and left a note somewhere he knew a runner would find it.

_Newt's ok. Come to back door of clinic 10pm._

Thomas knew that Teresa was in the hall keeping guard for him. Not that it was hard to keep guard: the only doctor on shift that night was snoring in the staff room. The orderlies were out the front having a cigarette.

He stepped out into the cold and was surprised when Minho pulled him into a hug.

“Oh. Uh-”

“Thanks, greenie.”

The friendly smack on the back nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“Er, for what?”

“For looking after Newt. When we were all too useless to know what to do. We’d do anything to protect one another at the Glade, but sometimes we get…wrapped up in it. We needed someone new to it to know what to do.”

Thomas just nodded and shrugged his shoulders awkwardly.

“So he’s ok?”

“Yeah. He’s recovering really well. ‘Cos this is just a charity and he doesn’t have insurance they can’t let him stay too long. Also he keeps bugging them to let him out. But they just need to make sure that it’s all out of his system.”

“That’s amazing. And they haven’t asked anything? About us, I mean?”

“Not really. They just wanted to know how much he ate, all that stuff.”

“Right. Well, we’re all looking forward to him coming back. If you know when they’ll discharge him, just leave a note where you left the other. We’ll come and help you get him home.”

“Is everyone else ok? No-one else got sick?”

“Gally made himself throw up. A few people who had eaten a few mouthfuls some all seemed ok. No-one else had eaten half as much as Newt had. Everyone was all too busy talking.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Thomas looked back into the clinic. Teresa coughed softly.

“I’d better go.”

“Right. Tell Newt we all say hey.”

“I will. Oh, hey, Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Newt was saying some stuff, last night when he had just woken up. Something about a fit? He thought he’d had one. He asked me to call his Dad.”

Minho looked left and right and licked his lips.

“Listen…I guess Newt told you about the rule we have on talking about one another stories?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“That rule covers this. You’ll have to ask himself.”

“Ok. Sure. I will.”

"Sorry, Thomas."

"No, no problem."

“Bye Thomas.”

“Bye Minho.”

Thomas snuck back inside and gently pushed the door shut. Teresa looked over her shoulder at him and the profile of her face, with its intense dark eyes and soft lips, was caught as the light cascaded down the hallway. Then she lifted her clipboard and went back into the staff room.


	14. Welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas have a tiff or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what to make of of this chapter, I suppose it is a bit in-betweenish. Things are brewing though people, never fear )  
> And thank you once again for all the amazing kudos and comments!

Newt dreamt he was back at his home. His Dad was sat in his armchair and he was reading the paper out loud in that accent that sounded too British for Americans to think he was one of their own, and just a touch too American for the British to think he was a native. Alex wasn’t there. The TV wasn’t on and there wasn’t any music playing. Through the thin wall Newt could hear next door’s family blasting a sitcom.

Everything looked so familiar: the print on the wall of some obscure 18th century writer that his Dad had studied for most of his adult life; the photo of Newt aged 3, completely naked and staring seriously into the camera, on the beach at his aunt’s house back in England; the clock that ticked so loudly it drove Newt insane; the cobwebs that his Dad never bothered to dust away; the smell of Alex’s weird roll-up cigarettes and damp.

He was sat by his Dad’s armchair and couldn’t seem stand. He tilted his head back to look up; up to where the light haloed his Dad’s head, his blonde hair shining like Newt’s did when he was out in the sun. He wore his red/brown cardigan, the one Newt’s mum used to say made him look like a stuffy English professor - which he was, or had been - and the tortoiseshell glasses he insisted on wearing even though he had last had his eyes checked fifteen years ago. The sound of his voice made Newt feel sleepy down to his bones.

And yet he couldn’t make out the words. He tried his best to crane up to hear but volume wasn’t an issue. His Dad’s voice was soft but clear. The words, however, were lost on Newt completely. The noise of the sitcom next door was getting louder and louder. Newt tried to peel himself off the floor and reach up to his Dad but his bones appeared to have been filled with concrete. He was completely frozen. He tried to open his mouth but no sound came out.

Then Alex burst in to the room through a door that had never been there before, and he started to shout something mutely. His mouth opened and shut but no sound came out. Newt looked up once again to his Dad and tried his best to hear.

“Newt. Newt. Newt.”

Someone was saying his name. Not his Dad, not Alex, who was still screaming silently in the doorway.

“Newt. Newt. Newt. Newt.”

 

* * *

 

Newt opened his eyes and breathed in deep. Big mistake. His stomach tightened with pain and his hands automatically flew to it, even though he knew it didn’t help. He lay there in the dark until the pain receded. There was a long, warm body pressed right up against him. It was where Thomas had slept the past two nights.

‘Hopefully the _last_ night in this place’ Newt thought. He rolled over so that he was facing Thomas. The drip got in the way but he managed to flex his arm enough behind him to keep it happy. Thomas hadn’t stirred from Newt’s wakening. Newt kissed him softly on the hairline.

The wooziness faded eventually. It always did. The last thirty six hours - after the initial twelve of unconsciousness - had gone by in a tedious pattern. Newt would go to sleep, have a strange hypnotic dream, wake up, feel so sick and dizzy that he thought his head might roll off his shoulders, then feel better, then start to get hungry, then eat, talk to Thomas, go to the bathroom, lie down again, feel exhausted, go to sleep. Every time the patten re-started itself he felt a little better. And this time the nausea passed after not long at all. He remembered the first bout of it had felt like being pinned to the mast of a thrashing ship in a storm. This one had just been like a hangover nausea. Except Newt couldn’t imagine putting alcohol in his stomach for some time.

The doctor had given him a big lecture about ‘after-treatment care’ when it came to his stomach. He was supposed to eat bland foods that were gentle on his digestive system. No fizzy drinks, no coffee, no spicy food, no alcohol. Newt had wanted to laugh and tell him that he hadn’t had any of those things - bar the alcohol - in months, sometimes years. But he stopped himself. The doctor hadn’t asked him about where he was from and he wasn’t going to tell. The charity stood for giving those who needed it the most a helping hand. He was safe from their questions. At least he hoped so.

The doctor had also insisted he drank a lot of water and only did gentle exercise so that the muscles in his stomach - wrenched raw by the vomiting - had time to repair. He mustn’t eat too much, or too little. And if there was blood anywhere, anywhere at all, he should …well at that point Newt had raised his hand and promised the doctor that he got his point, thank you.

Newt kissed Thomas again, this time on the nose. It amused him that the boy didn’t wake up. His Great Protector was so deeply asleep he didn’t even feel them. Then he felt bad for that. After all Thomas had slept even less than he had. Newt had no idea when Thomas had eaten, or showered, but he must have because he smelt clean and hadn’t passed out from hunger.

Newt could do with a shower. He needed to wash off that smell of hospital, the smell of sitting for all this time in a bed in the same pair of hospital pyjamas.

“Why are you sniffing like that?” Thomas asked with eyes still closed.

“I need a shower.”

“Well yeah I know that, you don’t need to sniff that hard to know.”

“Shut up.”

“You thought the smell of Gally’s punch was bad…”

“Stop it. Don’t make me laugh, please, Tommy, it hurts.”

Thomas finally opened his eyes to a squint and Newt felt his chest swell at the sight of the sleepy smile.

“Morning.”

“I actually think it’s afternoon.”

“My concept of time is scrambled.”

“They said they’d come and give you another check up at five. So when they come, we’ll know it’s five.”

Newt yawned.

“You looked fast asleep.”

“I was. Did you have a dream again?”

“Yeah.”

“What about this time?”

Newt sighed and pressed his forehead against Thomas’s. The gesture of someone who wanted to talk but didn’t want to be seen talking, “Home.”

“The Glade?”

“No, before the Glade.”

“Oh, right. Was it a good dream?”

“A weird one. I could hear my Dad talking but not hear what he was saying.”

“I dreamt I was a chicken and Gally caught me, chopped off my head, plucked me, and roasted me on the fire.”

Newt’s howls of laughter were laced with a lot of pain, “Oh shit, ow, ow. Tommy bloody hell I told you not to make me laugh.

“I didn’t think it was funny!”

“Well it bloody is. Ah, ow, ow.”

The doctor came in to glare at the pair of them. This one - was it Doctor Kennel or Doctor Ebbing? - did not approve of Thomas sleeping in bed with Newt. He did not approve of Thomas at all, really, and seemed to think that monkish silence would get Newt back to health much faster. The other doctor - Kennel or Ebbing - was encouraging and friendly. This one was not.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Newt assured him with a wave of the hand. He had just about managed to stop himself from laughing.

“Oh god, Tommy, that was so funny. You really dreamt that?”

“Yeah. It was horrible because even though my head had come off, I was conscious the whole time.”

“Did he eat you?”

“The dream sort of stopped halfway through the roasting. It’s not a fun dream, you know. Having your head chopped off like that and stuck in the fire. And I’d rather not dream about Gally shoving a spit up my ass.”

With that Newt laughed so hard that the doctor came in and made threats to have Thomas removed.

 

* * *

 

“Are you all ready to go?” Teresa asked brightly. Newt knew that the question was direction at him, but he had his back to her and used it as an excuse to ignore it. Thomas answered instead, giving Newt a look across the room that Newt couldn’t see but could most definitely feel.

“Yeah we are. Thanks, Teresa.”

“Oh, no problem. Listen, you don’t have to walk home you know. I have my Dad’s car for the weekend. I could drive you.”

“We can manage,” Newt said, with his back still to her.

“Ok…well, if you change your mind.”

When she laughed Thomas hissed across the bed at Newt, “Why are you rude to her?”

“What? I’m not.”

“You are.”

“You like her, do you?”

“She’s nice. She’s been really kind. She’s not done anything to us.”

“She’s nosey,” Newt said, well aware that it was a pathetic reason not to like her.

“She isn’t, Newt.”

“You told me she kept asking weird questions about where the meat came from, where we came from!”

“I’m sure she was just doing her job.”

Newt slammed his foot down to get his heel into his shoe, “Right. She’s a high-school volunteer in a clinic, Tommy. I bet the biggest job she has to do here is make the coffee. Her questions haven’t got anything to do with her job. She’s just sticking her nose in our business.”

Thomas rolled his eyes so hard that Newt was surprised it didn’t knock him over, “You are so suspicious.”

“Yeah, I am. Believe me you’ll be the same one day. We have to be on our guard, Thomas. The world is not out to help us.”

“It doesn’t suit you,” Thomas said. Newt looked over at him as he yanked at the last lace on his ratty baseball shoes.

“What?”

“Being suspicious doesn’t suit you. You’re wrong, it’s not like you at all. You’re normally the first person to make sure people are listened to, and understood, before we judge them. That’s what you do with the guys back in the Glade. That’s what you did with me. Why can’t you do the same for Teresa?”

Newt was a bit taken aback by Thomas’s speech. Thomas was right, Minho had always called him their ‘voice of reason’. He didn’t jump into things without knowing the opinion’s from each side. He didn’t take opinions of a person second hand, or listen to gossip. It was just the way he operated: he had never tried hard to become this way.

But he also wasn’t a fool. He didn’t blindly trust everyone, not like Thomas did. He was happy to wait to gather any necessary information.

Teresa fell between that gap in Newt’s personality. And maybe because he was tired, and still felt sick, and just wanted to go home, he was letting one side overtake the other.

The action of standing up pulled on the sore muscles of his stomach and he had to steady himself against the bed.

Thomas was at his side in a moment, warm hands on his back.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you going to be able to walk all the way back?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

They left the topic of Teresa.

The two boys didn’t have bags to pack or anything much to organise, so once Newt had climbed back into the clothes he had arrived in and laced up his shoes, he was ready to go.

The doctor - the nice one - gave Newt another talk on what to do and what not to do if he wanted to recover quicker. Newt nodded his head dutifully, but he was itching to push past the man, out of the clinic and slip into the fog of Maze. He wanted to feel invisible again. Being under bright lights, talking to a doctor, it all went against every instinct he ever had.

“Ok. Well, I hope I never have to see you again Newt,” the doctor said with a chuckle and extended his hand. Newt paused for a beat, then shook it.

“Yeah. You too Doctor. Thanks.”

Thomas shook his hand as well. Teresa was nowhere to be found.

They had chosen their timing well. It was dark outside and thick with fog. Newt felt in his element as the pair put distance between themselves and the clinic. By the time they made it to the park at the top of town he felt he could breathe again.

Except he couldn’t actually, not physically. He was exhausted. He sat down heavily on the pavement on the small side street by the church. His energy felt spent. His vision was spotted and he knew he was panting loudly.

“Are you alright, Newt?”

“I’m fine.”

“I said we’d meet Minho and the guys here.”

“Why do we need to? Can’t we just go back by ourselves?”

Newt looked up just in time to catch Thomas clearly trying to make up an excuse.

“Thomas,” Newt said, darkly, “I don’t need _help_ getting home.”

“Well no offence Newt, but you sort of _look_ like you do.”

“If you give me a minute I’ll be fine.”

“They’ll be here in a minute. Just let them help. They want to. They are desperate to see you.”

Newt pressed his forehead against his knees and swallowed back his arguments. Because really his head was thumping, his throat was dry, his stomach hurt, and he didn’t have any energy left. He was a wreck and he knew it.

“Minho?” Thomas whispered into the dark at the sound of a shoe scraping against the concrete. Newt looked up too, suddenly feeling an intense need to see his friends again. Thomas had assured him that no-one else had got sick from the poison but Newt still wanted to see them with his own two eyes. He had never felt this homesick in his life, not since he had landed in America all those years ago.

“Minho? Gally?”

“Thomas.”

It was not Minho, or Gally, or any of the other Gladers who appeared through the gloom. It was Teresa.

“Teresa? What the…what are you doing here?”

She looked ready to put forward a lie she had clearly rehearsed, then faltered.

“Er…I was just-”

“Did you _follow_ us?” Newt asked from where he was still sat on the floor.

“No, I…I was driving past, and I saw you both come down here. I wondered if I could still persuade you to let me drive you?”

“We’re fine, Teresa, honestly.”

“Look, I know you don’t trust me. I know that…I know that you don’t want to be ‘found out’. I know who you are. I know you’re the ones that steal food out of bins. The ones who most people here hate, the one who the WCKD lot pick up at night. But not everyone hates you. Not everyone is that _evil,”_ she spat the word out with venom, “I’ve never understood it. Why would my hometown treat you like that? I’ve never got it, never wanted to be any part of it. You’ve never hurt anyone. No-one in Maze ever went out of business because you stole out of their bin. The tourists barely even know you are here. I don’t understand why they hate you. But I know exactly why _I_ want to _help_ you.”

She fidgeted from foot to foot with her car keys jangling in her hand.

“Sorry, sorry for the speech. I just can’t stand it. And when you came in the other night I knew that you are one of them. And I thought I could help.”

“We don’t need help,” Newt said, with no trace of the annoyance or temper he had felt before towards the girl, “Look, it’s good to know that not everyone in this town hates us but we don’t want help. We’re helping ourselves, we can survive on our own. That’s why we stick together. We’ve found our help in each other. We just want to be left alone.”

 Newt hoped that Minho and Gally weren't somewhere in the fog listening in to the conversation. Please be late, he thought, please don’t have arrived yet. He felt guilty enough for having to be taken into the lion’s den to be saved. He didn’t want to have brought out a lion with him.

Teresa thought Newt’s words over, “I understand. But still. The people of Maze shouldn’t treat you like this.”

“We know that,” Thomas said in a grumble, “Not much we can do about it though, is there?”

“Maybe not. But I can.”

A back door opened up down the road. They had always used this little side street as a place to reconvene after a night’s run because it was dark and quiet, and only a few houses backed onto the alleyway. It seemed that one of these few houses had decided now was a good time to put out their cat. They stayed silent until the square of light receded and the door was re-locked.

Then Alby’s voice came through the fog, “Come on Newt, Thomas. Let’s go.”

Newt dragged himself to his feet and was thankful that Thomas was there at his elbow to catch him when he wobbled. Alby sounded to only be a few feet away but it was impossible to tell in the gloom. He could have just arrived or he could have been there the whole time, Newt didn’t know. But he recognised the tone in his friend’s voice.

“Thanks, Teresa. Really,” Newt said, keeping his voice low, “But I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can do.”

Thomas gave Teresa a lopsided, apologetic smile, and then they left her in the fog. Alby was waiting for them at the corner of the park. Minho was there, and Gally. Newt could read them all like a book. They had definitely heard Teresa.

But the minute they saw Newt they seemed to drop the look from their faces. They each gave him a bone-crunching hug, even Gally, and by the time they headed back to the airport - all dawdling at Newt’s new painfully slow pace - Newt had forgotten that Teresa had been there at all.

 

* * *

 

The one plus side about recovery was the lie-ins. No-one batted an eyelid when Newt didn’t wake up at the same time as the rest of them. He tried _not_ to sleep in, but the lasting effects of the drugs and exhaustion seemed to have make it impossible to wake up at normal time.

And he wasn’t stupid. He knew that Thomas had insisted that everyone be as quiet as possible when they left the sleeping area (then Gally had implemented it with some well placed threats), and Newt was well aware that Alby had stopped telling him about all the things that needed doing so that Newt didn’t feel obliged to do them.

As much as he knew he needed the recovery, and the lie-ins were bloody marvellous, it made him tetchy. He wanted to _do_ something. After a couple of days of taking it easy he cornered Chuck in the afternoon when the boy was sorting through their clothes store.

“No, Newt…it’s fine-”

“Chuck, I am going to go crazy. Please. Just let me know something I can do. Anything. Something simple.”

Chuck looked left and right as though he thought someone might appear at any moment.

“I know Alby said that you shouldn’t let me do anything. And I know that Gally told everyone he’d dunk them in the water butt if they did. But _please_. If you don’t tell me anything I can do then I am going to go off and find something myself.”

Poor Chuck didn’t seem to know what to do, but in the end he relented. He let Newt help him sort clothes, but made him promise not to tell anyone.

Thomas found them a few hours later. Chuck leapt up like he had been shocked.

“Calm down, Chuck, I promise not to tell Gally,” Thomas said, urging the boy to sit down, “So this is where you’ve been then Newt?”

“I’ve been useless these past couple of days. I wanted to help.”

“Newt, you ingested a batch of rat poison like five days ago. You’re allowed some time off.”

“But I’m _bored.”_

Thomas chuckled, “You could have just come to find me, I would have entertained you.”

“Every time Minho sees me get out of bed he glares at me. Gally too.”

“That might be because they are also planning a party for you tonight.”

“What?”

“A party. Well, one without alcohol. Alby’s banned it for a while. He’s worried if Gally steals any more the whole town of Maze will be up here in a heartbeat. It’s just going to be some food - non poisoned, Frypan assures me - some music and hanging out, that’s all.”

Newt blinked, “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? To celebrate you coming home, that’s why.”

“Is that why Minho and Ben weren’t letting me go out to the fire today? They kept marching me back to bed…”

“Aw, the boys being mean to you are they?” Thomas cooed in mock sympathy. Chuck laughed as he stood up with a pile of clothes and hefted them to the other side of the room.

“Shut up greenie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Thomas said. His voice was a mixture of serious and a joke, so much so that Newt didn’t know if he meant it or not.

“What?”

“Come on, that’s not what you call me. You call me Tommy.”

“I know. But I just…do you really not want me to call you greenie?”

It was clear now that Thomas wasn’t joking. Newt leant against his shoulder and ducked his head down to find Thomas’s gaze.

“I’ve called you greenie before. The others call you greenie. ‘Cos you still are, you know. Chuck was greenie until you arrived-”

“No, I get that. I get that the others might call me it from time to time. But I don’t want you to.”

“Ok. Why?”

Thomas had gone red from the base of his neck to the tip of his ears. Newt rubbed the back of his hand against one of Thomas’s red cheeks, “Tell me. Why?”

“Well, you read the article. My second name is Greener. I used to get called Greenie all the time at school. Not by my friends, by the sorts of idiots who stole your lunch money and pushed you in a puddle. Not very imaginative, I know. And not offensive at all. But still…it reminds me a bit too much of those jerks. I don’t mind it when the others say it, when they’re messing around. Don’t really want you to call it me though.”

Newt thought about it for a moment then nodded, “Sure. It might slip out now and then, but I’ll try not to.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said with a peck on Newt’s lips, “Anything you definitely don’t want me to call you?” he added as a joke.

“Newty,” Newt said, darkly, “Minho keeps trying it and if he does one more time I am going to break his wrist.”

“Fine then. No ‘Newty’.”

“Oh, and no reference to my actual name. Mostly because if you call me Isaac then I won’t even know who you are talking about.”

“Ok.”

“And not ‘Newton’. I hate my second name as much as my first. Makes me sound like a physics geek.”

“Ok, Newt, I didn’t really expect a _list.”_

 _“_ Sorry.”

Thomas ran a hand around Newt’s side and slid it under his t-shirt to rest on his stomach.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright.”

“Really?” Thomas pushed, eyebrows raised.

“Alright: tired. I’m bloody exhausted.”

“Well it’s getting dark outside and I’ll be heading out soon. So do you want to-”

“Wait, what? You’re going on a run? By yourself?”

Newt pulled away from Thomas’s hand to look him square in the face.

“No, not by _myself._ With Minho, Ben and a few of the others.”

“Are you going to stick to one of the others?”

“No. Alby said I could run on my own.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

Newt tried to get up but his stomach muscles hurt so much that he collapsed back down onto the bench.

“Ow, bloody _ow_.”

“Newt, sit down.”

“No, wait, you can’t go on a run by yourself! Why did Alby say that?”

“Maybe because I am capable of looking after myself, Newt!”

“You’ve only been on a run once before, with me. You don’t know enough to get around.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not an insult, Thomas, it’s the truth! You have to know what you are doing.”

“Again, thanks. Alby thinks I know what I am doing.”

“Alby is just desperate for people to go down there.”

“That’s because we are running out of food, Newt! If the need is there then why can’t I take a chance?”

“I don’t wantyou to take a chance! Taking chances out there…Thomas, Grievers are the kind of people that don’t let you get away with a mistake. What if you don’t come back?”

“Don’t be stupid, Newt.”

Newt put his hands up and turned Thomas’s face towards him.

“What if you don’t come back?”

Thomas sighed and kissed Newt as softly, as sweetly, as reassuring as he could, “I will come back Newt. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

 

Despite everyone arguing to the contrary, Newt went out to wave the runners off.

“Be safe,” he said to them all, but his eyes were on Thomas.

“Will do,” Minho replied with a salute. Newt only just managed to catch the wink Minho threw him before the small group jogged off into the fog. He knew what the wink meant: don’t worry, I’ll watch Thomas. But it didn’t really feel very comforting.

“Don’t worry about Thomas, Newt. He can look after himself,” Alby said from where he stood next to him.

“I know,” Newt said. But he didn’t. And the thought made him tense and anxious.

“You should go in and get some rest.”

“Hm.”

“And some food.”

“In a minute.”

“No, Newt. Now. That’s an order.”

“Ok, ok. But first, answer me one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think the meat being poisoned means that they are trying harder to get rid of us?”

Alby rubbed at his forearm where a burn mark from an attack with a Griever and his taster gun was still clear against his skin.

“I don’t know.”

“Because I know they’ve tried that before with us. Hell, they even killed George with it. But…that, plus more Grievers on patrol earlier in the day? Does that mean something Alby?”

“I don’t know.”

It wasn’t really the answer that Newt had been hoping for.


	15. Tickled pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt wants to stay wake to watch Thomas come back from a run...he blames the rat poison for all the ensuing embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowzers, that was a big break between chapters for this fic! Sorry about that everyone. I feel cruel for posting so regularly and then pulling a mini-hiatus on you all. But I feel like I needed to do it because when I came back to writing I really enjoyed it, and had some new ideas to cram in there. So it was all for the greater good, I swear! Thank you for your fantabulous commenting and kudos in the mean time. I hope you enjoy this: it's mostly Thomas/Newt feels and not much else but fireworks are promised soon.

Despite the nerves and the stress and the anxiety, plus the driving need to see Thomas safe again, Newt couldn’t stay outside any longer. It would be hours before the runners got back but he was already starting to regret staying out this long. He wanted to be there when they got back, he really did, but there was a growing nausea starting to roll in his stomach. His head was pounding. He had to get up and get inside before things started to fall away from him. He staggered to his feet, and the world started to lurch and sway. The sound of his own panting in his ear pounded under the rushing of an ominous white noise.

“Whoa whoa whoa, easy there Newt," a very familiar voice said in his ear. Hands he knew all too well grabbed him before he hit the concrete. Newt put a hand out to brace himself against the arm across his chest but there was just no energy left in him, and instead he sank further into the hold.

“Gally, I’m fi…no I need to throw up.”

Then he did. On Gally’s boots.

When Newt finally swam back to any normal state of mind he had a deep, horrifying suspicion that he had been sick a few more times. The world only stopped spinning once he had been lying on his back on his hammock, moaning despite himself, for a good half an hour. He jumped when a cold wet cloth was dropped rather unceremoniously onto his forehead.

“Gally? Are you…are you _looking after me_?”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack out there. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I-”

“Shut up, you are too tired to be talking right now. Just rest. You should have said something if you were feeling that bad.”

Gally removed the wet cloth much to Newt’s relief, because it was dripping cold water down his neck.

“And you can stay there, and stay quiet, until your boyfriend gets back. Then he can do the nurse thing.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Newt managed to mumble between his parched lips. He was dying for a drink but wasn’t sure that he had the energy to say it. Thankfully Gally seemed to notice him licking his lips and swallowing dryly and connected the dots.

“Here.”

He helped Newt have a drink of water without moving him too much. God, Newt's head was banging like it was a drum begin played by an angry toddler. 

“Better?”

“A bit. I’m sorry I threw up on your boots.”

“Yeah well you’re lucky that Ben owes me something huge. He’s cleaning them now.”

Newt scrunched up his nose because he didn’t want to think of anyone cleaning up his sick, especially if it was someone doing it only because Gally was never ashamed to call in a debt.

“You should have just gone to bed and gone to sleep like Alby told you to instead of waiting out there for _Tommy_. You don’t need to be his cheerleader.”

“Gally, please. Stop.”

Gally looked slightly chastened, “Sorry. But it's true. You don't look after yourself.”

“Have you been talking to Minho?” Newt muttered suspiciously.

Gally kicked up his feet - dressed only in ratty grey socks now that his boots were puke-stained and stretched out on his hammock. He jerked his body to the side and the hammock started to swing gently. He slid his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

“We may have been talking.”

“About me?”

“Hm.”

“Don’t.”

“Newt, you leave us no choice. You run yourself ragged. Then you go and eat a load of rat poison. And if that’s not enough, you then stand outside in the freezing cold for hours on end waiting for Thomas to get back from town.”

“I didn’t eat the rat poison on purpose.”

“No, but you did the rest of it on purpose and that’s what’s so frustrating. You don’t know when to stop. You don’t know when to look after yourself.”

Newt closed his eyes. He didn’t want to apologise for something that he didn't see as his fault, but he didn’t want to give Gally the satisfaction of seeing the guilt in his gaze. Everyone was worried about him. He didn’t _want_ them to be, but they were. It was suffocating.

 _He_ was the one that worried about everyone else, not the other way around. And ok, he was fine with them being a little concerned for his health to some extent, what with having ingested poisoned meat, but the rest of their worries were irking him. Feeling the role reversal of being the object of everyone’s watchful eye made him nervous.

“Newt, quit looking so tragic.”

“The stop telling me what to do, Gally. ‘Lie down’. ‘Stop moving’. ‘Drink this’. ‘Don’t do that’.”

“We’re looking out for you, Newt.”

“Then stop it!” Newt yelled, and he ignored the ripping pain in his stomach as the raw muscles pulled and winced.

“Newt-”

“No, seriously Gally, you can all stop it. I got sick, and I got over it. I’ve not been sleeping recently, but I’ll get over it. I hurt my knee, but I’ll get over it. I'm not completely fragile, I am not anyone's _responsibility_.”

Newt had no energy to move away from this conversation no matter how much he wanted to, so he simply did his best to roll over so that his back was to Gally. It made the hammock swing and for a moment he thought the motion might make him hurl, but eventually it slowed and he was able to settle his stomach. He pulled a blanket over his shoulder and suddenly felt tired down to his bones. He had been stupid, he really should have gone to bed for some rest earlier. He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that to Gally.

“So…” Gally said, deciding to leave their previous argument to the side, “You and Thomas hey?”

“Oh god,” Newt groaned, “Please don’t, Gally.”

“Funny that. I called it you know, the minute he turned up. You had that look in your eye, like you’d just found some chocolate in Frypan’s stores.”

“Well I’m glad you all noticed these things way before either of us did. But I don’t really want to know.”

He didn’t want to talk about this with _Gally_ , of all people. Gally, who back in the day he had spent an embarrassing amount of hours grinding against in hot, sloppy make out sessions on the packing crates that used to make up their beds, or out in the grass when the summer came. It was easier to get the privacy then, when there had only been a handful of them. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of what he and Gally had done, far from it. It had been sweet and well-meaning at the time. It was exactly what he had told Thomas: they were alone in the world, lonely and desperate for a need of belonging. Craving for touch, for someone to grab hold of them and not want to let go. One day it had just stopped. They had never spoken about it. It didn’t necessarily made it awkward, but it certainly brought up a lot of questions that Newt didn’t want given the light of day.

He must have fallen asleep in the middle of his internal ramblings, because suddenly he was aware that it was much darker outside, and cold in that early hours of the morning sort of way, and someone was pressing a tender kiss on his ear.

“Hm?”

“Sorry, go back to sleep,” Thomas whispered. Newt felt his hot hands ghost over him, and the dip of the hammock next to him as Thomas’s body rolled up against him.

“Go back to sleep,” Thomas said again, right into his ear, landing butterfly kisses on Newt’s temple, cheek and jaw.

“You’re back.”

“I’m back.”

“Oh shit.”

Thomas laughed on an exhale, “Thanks.”

“No, no. I mean, I wanted to wait up. Wait for you.”

Thomas slid his strong arms around Newt’s waist and flattened a large hand against his stomach. The warmth was amazing. It felt like a heat pad being pressed against the wrenched muscles.

“Don’t worry about it. Gally said you weren’t very well.”

“I was fine. Just tired.”

Thomas kissed him on the shoulder through his t-shirt, and Newt could feel his hot breath through the material. Everything about Thomas was hot. He clearly hadn’t been able to have a shower after his run, he smelt like fog and sweat. Not a bad smell, Newt thought with a small twist of a smile. It smelt like Thomas. Comfortable, familiar, personal and close. He ran a hand over the bones in Thomas’s wrist then lifted his hand upwards through the covers, and kissed the back of Thomas’s fingers, then placed it back against his stomach.

“Night Thomas.”

“Night Newt.”

 

* * *

 

Newt felt surprisingly better the next day. He still took it steady, but then again he had no other option. The rest of the Gladers watched him like a hawk for the smallest sign of exertion.

“I can get my own water,” Newt said, but with a smile, as Chuck tried to fill his tin cup up for him.

“Sorry, Newt.”

“You can help me with stuff if you want, Chuck, but don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.”

Chuck blushed bright red from his ears to his throat but nodded his curly head enthusiastically. Newt had only just taken his first sip of water when Thomas sat down heavily onto the packing crate beside him.

“Ready for the party tonight?”

Newt rolled his eyes, “I don’t need a party.”

“Try telling that to Ben and Minho. They are behind this idea a hundred and ten percent.”

“I though this was supposed to be _last_ night?”

“Well then you threw up all over Gally’s feet - I wish I had seen that by the way - and you weren’t your best. So we moved it.”

“I wouldn’t ask Gally about the throwing up thing. He’ll make you pay.”

Thomas grunted. It was a deep noise in the barrel of his chest, a mixture of a dare for Gally to try and yet acceptance that he didn’t want that particular fight right now. Although Gally had come to a general understanding of Thomas's presence here at the Glade, their truce was delicate. 

“You promised no alcohol. Is that still the case?”

“No alcohol. Alby made sure of it.”

“And no poisoned meat?”

“As far as I am aware we are back to having no meat at all, poisoned or otherwise. We’re not going to trust anything that comes out of that butcher’s again, and we’ve found no other supply. No alcohol. No poisoned meat. It’s going to be fun.”

“Hm.”

“And it’s going to be early. Before the runners head out. So that you can catch up on some sleep.”

Newt rolled his eyes so hard that it nearly knocked him over.

“Stop giving us that look when we take care of you.”

Newt opened his mouth and made a noise of surprise when Thomas clapped his hand over Newt’s mouth. Newt glowered at him over his fingers, and the sight must have been funny because Thomas had to clamp his mouth shut to stop from laughing.

“Oof, that’s a glare and a half.”

“Get off me,” Newt tried to say, although it came out more like ‘hm humph muu’

“Not until you shut up and just let us look after you for a few days. Then you’ll be back to your normal indestructible safe, and we can all get you back as the mother hen.”

Newt’s glare only got worse.

“Sexy mother hen,” Thomas added, as though that would make it better, and Newt lifted a hand to tear Thomas’s off him.

“Just stop talking Thomas.”

“What, you don’t like being called sexy?”

“I don’t like being called 'mother hen'.”

Thomas gets a look in his eye that’s all sultry and warm, and his gaze keeps dropping to Newt’s lips. Newt is suddenly very glad that he brushed his teeth at least three times after vomiting last night.

“Fancy finding somewhere else to…go?” Thomas asked, and suddenly he’s crowding in Newt’s personal space, and Newt licks his lips despite himself.

“The cafe is covered in seagull shit.”

“Then not the cafe.”

“Where?”

Thomas’s gaze flicks from left to right, as though a sign denoting ‘good place for nookie’ would appear nearby.

“Uh…you know this airport better than me.”

“How about where Chuck keeps the clothes?”

Thomas’s eyes widen a little, “On the clothes?”

“Not _on_ the clothes you slinthead. There’s a small room behind it that locks.”

Thomas nods his head so fast that his hand flies up to rub at a muscle he pulls, “Sure. Sure. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Newt groaned as he opened his eyes. This whole ‘suddenly being conscious then waking up and having no idea what happened’ was a seriously annoying side-effect of that rat poison. He never seemed to remember actually falling asleep. One minute he was awake and the next he was coming to with a nagging sensation that he was missing something.

“Well hello sleeping beauty.”

Newt lifted his head. He ached all over. Where was he sleeping?

He rolled over and peered down at his makeshift bed, which appeared to be a pile of packing crates covered in tarpaulin and then an old hammock with a hole in it covering that. Thomas’s zip up hoody that he had arrived in was draped over Newt’s shoulders, and Thomas himself was sat against the wall on the opposite side of this tiny room they were both in. Newt could hear the clank of groan of the water butts somewhere above them. They were behind the showers, behind where Chuck kept and sorted their spare supply of clothes. Hadn’t he and Thomas come here to…

“What the hell?”

Thomas crawled across the flaw and bumped up against the stack of packing crates so that he was eye level with Newt, and only a few inches from his face.

“You fell asleep.”

“When?”

Thomas let a grin flare across his face, then suppressed it, “About an hour ago.”

“I don’t remember. Tell me.”

Newt had a terrible feeling that Thomas was trying not to laugh.

“Thomas. Tell me.”

“Ok. But I don’t want you to feel bad about it. I totally forgive you. After all, the doctor said that the stuff you were pumped with would make you feel weird for the next few days.”

“Thomas. Tell. Me. What. Happened.”

Thomas scratched at his nose, thinking about how best to articulate what he was about to say, “We were in the middle of…making out. Well, no, more than making out.” Thomas waved a hand, “Let’s just say that our zippers were down.”

Newt couldn’t help it: he looked down at himself. His fly was most definitely zipped. Thomas followed his gaze and that barely-suppressed bubble of laughter got swallowed down once again, “I, er, did you up.”

“Right.”

Newt wanted to curl up into a ball and die. He didn’t even know what had happened yet, and the embarrassment was _already_ overwhelming.

“So…before that?”

“Well I was on top of you, and we were…kissing and stuff. And then…”

Newt groaned and slapped a hand over his face, “Just tell me, Thomas.”

“You went to sleep.”

Newt slid two fingers apart so that he could peer out at Thomas.

“Asleep?”

“Yeah. Right in the middle of a kiss. Right in the middle of… _everything_. Our hands were…doing stuff, as it were,” Thomas cleared his throat, “And then I noticed that you had stopped and your lips had gone all slack and I looked down and you were asleep. Fast asleep. In fact for a while I freaked out thinking that you had _passed_ out. But then you started  open mouth snoring so I figured you were ok.”

Newt replaced his fingers over his eyes and pulled Thomas’s hoody over his head, which didn’t help because then everything smelt like Thomas, and it seemed to make the humiliation worse.

“Oh _god._ I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Newt. You’ve been pumped full of chemicals, both bad and good, for the past few days.”

Newt swallowed a very hot lump in his throat. He didn’t really want to cry, he just wanted the burning humiliating to somehow get forced out of him so that he could bear to look at Thomas again. He couldn’t believe that he just fell asleep in the middle of something that he and Thomas had never done before.

He was a terrible, terrible human being.

A smudge of light filtered through his fingers as Thomas lifted up the edge of his hoody and peered into the small cave of shame that Newt had made for himself. Thomas’s own fingers came under the hoody too and pulled Newt’s hand away from his face.

“Newt?”

Was it a good sign that there was the edge of laughter in Thomas’s voice? It was better than anger at least.

“Newt, why are you hiding?”

Newt sighed, “Because I’m embarrassed. Because I’m sorry. Because I want the ground to swallow me up.”

Thomas’s fingers were replaced with his head and Newt closed his eyes with a smile despite himself, and let his face be peppered with Thomas’s kisses.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s funny, if anything. Good to know what you think of my hand job skills.”

“Stop talking,” Newt groaned, trying to push Thomas away, because that hot volcano of embarrassment was threatening to spill over again.

“I’m joking, Newt, I’m joking. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I don't care. You're still recovering. It's fine. We have plenty of time for that kind of stuff."

Their muffled conversation underneath Thomas’s hoody was interrupted by a strong fist beating on the door.

“Guys, are you in there?”

“One minute!” Thomas called out, his voice loud under the hot tent of his hoody. All Newt could see in the limited light was Thomas’s shining eyes, the crinkle at their edges as he grinned at Newt, and the white of his teeth.

“No, _now_. You need to see this.”

Minho’s voice didn’t leave any room for argument. Thomas pushed off the hoody and they both frowned at each other.

“Feeling aright to get up?”

Newt nodded, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he was reminded yet again what had just happened.

“Come on then. Sounds like they need their mother hen,” Thomas said with a chuckle.

“Thomas, Newt, _now._ You are really going to want to see this.”


	16. In the Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The airport is foggy in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for all the gorgeous comments you lovely lovely people! I hope you enjoy and if you celebrate Christmas then you have a wonderful one!

“Is she a friend of yours?” Gally snarled the moment that Newt and Thomas emerged from the airport. Newt frowned at him.

“What? Who?”

Gally stuck out an arm and pointed with all the dramatic flare he could muster over to a figure standing by the fire who was surrounded by twenty or so awkward boys trying not to stare.

“Teresa?”

“Oh so she’s a friend of _yours_ is she? Big surprise,” Gally said, rounding on Thomas.

“She’s not a friend of anyone, she worked at the clinic. You…” Newt turned to Gally, “You _heard_ her, didn’t you? The night you came to pick me up, she was talking to me and Thomas.”

“Alby said he could hear you talking to someone but that was it. We didn’t hear what you are talking about or to _who_. So who the hell is she?”

Newt heard a distinct growl from Thomas. Anything that they said to Gally was just going to wind him up, so Newt ignored him and joined the frighteningly silent ‘welcoming’ party at the fire, Thomas shadowing him.

“Teresa. What are you doing here?”

If she was afraid of being right in the middle of the den of homeless boys who thieved every night from her hometown’s bins she didn’t show it. Her hands were clenched into loose fists at her sides and her chin was tilted upwards.

“Hi Newt. Thomas.” But she couldn’t hide the relief in her voice at the sight of them.

“ _What_ are you doing here?”

“I need to speak to you,” she said firmly as he stalked passed the fire towards them. The other boys all watched her carefully, not sure who this girl was or what she meant.

“What about?”

She looked about her at the upturned faces. Newt got her suggestion and jerked his head towards the airport.

 “Ok. Come on.”

The small group - Alby, Thomas, Newt, Gally and Minho - found a quiet, darkened corner of the airport and left the bustle of the others, now gossiping furiously, behind them. Once they had established that they were in fact alone Thomas introduced Teresa to Alby, Minho and Gally.

“What did you want to tell us, Teresa. How did you even find us?”

“This place hasn’t been so secret for a while guys.”

Newt caught Alby and Minho exchanging glances.

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn us about what?”

She took a deep breath and coughed a little. She clearly had her words prepared clearly, “There was a Maze town meeting last night. It was about you all, about what to do with you. They want to put forward a plan to move you out of here completely and take you all away.”

Gally opened his mouth but Alby lifted a hand, and he fell quiet. He nodded to Teresa to continue.

“They’ve known that you live up here for about six months. Their problem is that they never had the money or the right to come up here. Technically this area is still owned by the man who tried to set up the airport. If the police want to come up here they have to get a warrant and the owner of the airport has never granted them one, even when they explained why. Of course the police could just come up here but they are frightened of the owner’s lawyers. And they have another problem: this area isn’t actually part of Maze. The airport owner had to admit that this land is part of the next town over. And _they_ have told Maze that they don’t want their police marching into an airport that would technically become theirs if the man who owns it ever gets the money together to re-open it.

So until now you’ve been safe. But last night’s town meeting got…heated. And a group of them have come up with their own solution. One that doesn’t necessarily follow the letter of the law.”

At this her mouth seemed to dry up. She had her eyes focused on Thomas and Newt, moving her gaze between the two of them, trying to get them to understand something before she had to say it out loud.

“And that would be?” Alby prompted her.

“They’re going to pitch to the company behind the private security team that patrol Maze at night. They’re going to ask them if they can come here and clean you out. They’ll fund it privately so that the town council can’t get into any trouble.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over them all as the boys soaked the information. Newt swallowed heavily. He felt sick, again. Except this time it wasn’t the after affects of the poison. It was fear. A fear that struck him in the gut, that made his chest squeeze tight.

What the hell were they going to do now?

Newt automatically turned to Thomas to try to find some of his own resolve in his boyfriend’s eyes, but Thomas was no longer standing next to him.

“Thomas?”

The sounds of Thomas’s footsteps heading out of the airport echoed in his ears, but for a moment he was frozen. Teresa and Minho were talking, Gally’s voice was getting louder and louder, but Alby was turned towards the door watching Thomas’s dark silhouette disappear.

 Alby was the only other person who knew Thomas’s father was the person behind the men who hunted them at night. Alby had clearly had his eyes on Thomas the whole time Teresa spoke, had guessed her words before anyone else did. He had seen Thomas’s reaction.

Newt should have seen. He should have caught Thomas before he flung himself down the rabbit hole of self-loathing and despair that he was always dangling over the precipice of. A hole that Thomas’s father had dug over months and years of belittlement and abuse. Newt didn’t know how Thomas wasn’t buried in it all the time. But he wasn’t, and Newt couldn’t let him do that to himself now.

Alby turned back and his eyes landed straight on Newt’s.

Teresa was trying to talk to him, Minho was trying to talk to him, to Alby, to Gally: what do we do? What does this mean? What’s next? Teresa called out Newt’s name, her hot hand came out to try and grab him, but he brushed her aside as he raced after Thomas.

 

* * *

 

“Tommy? Tommy! Thomas!”

Newt didn’t know how long he had been out looking for Thomas. He felt torn because he knew back in the airport Alby would be grilling Teresa for more information and turning over the possibilities in his mind. They would need to talk things through as the older members of the group, and they would need a plan of action for announcing this to the rest of them. But there couldn’t be any planning, any decision making, until Teresa had given them all of the information they needed. It bought Newt some vital time. And more than anything he wanted to find Thomas. 

“Tommy, where are you?”

Newt rarely came down to these far corners of the runway. It was where the nettles had grown wild and where the boundary hedges were riddled with foxes and rats. The long stretch of black tarmac daubed with yellow arrows - the blast pads - were covered in fox droppings and weeds. The boys had never needed to stretch this far so the various wildlife of the airport had been able to breed happily and in peace. As Newt searched through the long grass and overgrown hedges for any sign of Thomas he was taken back to his first days at the airport. He had wondered around the fringes in his first few weeks glaring into the undergrowth and throwing branches and rocks into the tangled shadows, thinking his new situation through.

The fog had completely swallowed the noise of the boys back at the airport and it had settled over the night like a thick grey carpet. When Newt had walked past the rest of the confused Gladers at the fire they had all demanded an answer: ‘what’s going on? Newt, what’s happening?’

All he had for them was a question in reply: ‘Where’s Thomas? Where did he go?’

They had pointed him this way and had no doubt returned to the fire to guess, speculate and simmer with grumbles until told otherwise.

“Tommy?”

Newt heard the chatter in his voice. He was freezing. He had forgotten just how much they needed the warmth of their fire at this time of year. He tried to remember the date on the paper where he’d read about Thomas’s family. Dates and times of the year slipped through the Gladers' fingers. All that mattered were the rough sections of the seasons and how to survive in each. Could it even be December already? Winter could be more on top of them than any of them had realised. And with all of this going on how could they make this winter work?

“Tommy!”

“I’m here.”

“Bloody hell Tommy!” Newt cried, leaping into the air, “You scared the klunk out of me.”

“Sorry.”

Thomas slid his arms around Newt’s waist and they stood for a moment wrapped around each other in the cold. Newt lifted a hand and carded it up the back of Thomas’s neck through his dark hair. Thomas felt cold in his arms but solid. He hadn’t been crying. He was just oddly still.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Where did you go?”

“Well to be honest I went to go and sit on the runway for a minute and just…I don’t know, kick something. Then I got lost in the fog and ended up all the way out here.”

Newt mouthed a laugh against the soft skin under Thomas’s neck.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry. It just took me by surprise. My Dad…god, how can my Dad keep managing this? No matter where I turn he’s right there trying to cut me down.”

Newt felt a shiver pass through him and he squeezed Thomas tighter.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do. But we’ll do something. We’ll work it all out.”

“We’d better get back and help, then.”

Thomas’s thumb rubbed softly against Newt’s back through his shirt, “Alby will be lost without his second in command.”

Newt huffed, “I think it’s going to take more than just me and him to get everyone to sit down and listen. And all of us to work out a plan of action.”

They walked back to the fireside where the boys were practically humming with frustration.

“Newt, what the hell is going on? These guys won’t say anything.”

Newt had his hand knitted with Thomas’s and was surprised by the force of the question. He glanced over at Alby and Minho who were holding court on the other side of the fire, not answering questions but trying to quell the panic. And Teresa. She was sat on a packing crate by a fire, a bundle of defiant angles.

This went on for some time. Many boys tried to suck Newt into their questioning but he kept out of it. He joined Teresa on the crate, although he couldn’t bring himself to sit too close to her. Thomas filled in the gap and gave Teresa a half-smile.

Newt felt the heavy weight of Alby sitting down in the middle of the crate behind Thomas and Newt.

“We’re not telling anyone anything until tomorrow. Teresa’s told us everything that she knows. We may have more time than we first thought. Teresa says that the people at the town meeting who want to pitch to WCKD are not going to do it until they’ve drummed up more support in the town. They are going to do as much work as they can, try to raise some money, and then present their idea at the next council meeting.”

“When’s that?”

“A month's time. Middle of January.”

They were certainly further into winter than Newt thought.

“That definitely buys us some time. I’m going to get everyone to go to bed now and then we’re going to have a full meeting at nine a.m. tomorrow.”

Newt felt Thomas slump a little against him. Nine a.m. tomorrow and everyone would know who Thomas’s father was. He found Thomas’s hand in the dark and squeezed it.

“They’ll hate that.”

“I know. But if we start tonight no-one is going to get any sleep and we’re not going to make any smart decisions.”

Alby looked up to check that none of the other Gladers had heard him. Across the fire Ben was trying to get information out of Gally. The boy had clammed up completely out of respect for Alby’s wishes and had his arms folded, one hand raised to try to wave Ben away. Ben looked crestfallen as he tried to cajole Gally into saying something. 

Teresa looked down at her hands in her lap then brushed them together as though sweeping away dirt and suddenly jumped to her feet.“I have to go. My Dad will be getting back from work soon, he can’t know I’ve been out.”

Newt frowned, “What does he do to be out this late at night?”

“He’s a lawyer,” she said vaguely, pulling her coat closed.

No-one but Alby and Minho noticed her leaving. In a moment Minho had crossed the fire and was standing on the other side of her.

“We’ll walk you home.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m ok by myself.”

“He’s right,” Alby said, “Someone should walk you back.” Teresa looked like she was about to argue, “At least to the edge of Maze. It’s pitch black from here to there, it’s easy to get lost.”

“I’ll go with Minho,” Thomas offered. He landed a kiss on Newt’s temple and squeezed his arm with cold fingers. Newt watched them leave with his arms folded, a feeling of tension prickling under his skin. Teresa looked briefly over her shoulder at the group of boys and her eyes fell on Newt. She offered him a small smile.

Whilst Minho and Thomas walked Teresa back Newt helped Alby to corral the others back into the airport.

“Come on Alby this is ridiculous, you’ve got to tell us! That girl appears and takes you off to talk to you then you say _nothing?”_

 _“_ Yeah what’s that about Alby? Come on, I thought we shared everything as a group with each other.’

Alby leapt up onto a packing crate and quietened the crowd. Newt stood to the side, his arms wrapped loosely around him.

“Alright everyone listen up! We do have a lot of things that we need to talk about. We need to come to some decisions. But we aren’t doing any of that tonight. Everyone goes to bed, gets some sleep, then we all meet around the fire here at nine in the morning.”

There was a chorus of complaints and mutinous shouts.

“Hey!” Alby roared over the noise, “Everyone quiet down! _This_ part isn’t up for discussion. We are all going to bed, and we are all going to get back together in the morning. Then we’ll answer your question.”

There was a bit more shouting, and Newt and Alby had to do some one-on-one calming of tempers for a while, but finally everyone had reluctantly shuffled off to bed.

Soon Alby, Gally and Newt were the only ones left outside. Gally was tense and unhappy, his shoulders rolled forward as though someone were pelting rocks at his back. He scuffed a boot against the ground and grunted, “If we’re all just gonna stand here then I’m going to bed too.”

Newt knew how uncomfortable that it’d make him lying to Ben. Those two didn’t really keep much from each other these days. Newt felt guilty but knew it was for the best. None of them could go behind Alby’s back at a time like this.

Gally looked round at them all, as though he hoped his words would cause a reaction, then grunted and left Alby and Newt in the dwindling warmth of the slowly dying fire.

“Are you going to mention Thomas’s Dad to them all?” Newt said in a rush.

Alby rubbed at his jaw, “I’ll say what I need to say at the time. They deserve to know everything. You know I have to, Newt.”

Newt nodded.

“You should go to bed, Newt.”

Newt looked over at his friend darkly. 

“Not now, Alby.”

* * *

 

When Minho and Thomas came back Newt was the only one left at the fire side. Alby was stalking like a shadow around the airport Newt had no doubt. He could practically _feel_ his thought processes through the walls.

Minho drew up beside Newt, hands on his hips. He glanced around the desolate fireside. Newt had wrapped blankets around himself in absence of the warmth of the fire. It looked cold and empty out here, where usually it was a place full of life and heat. In a few hours one of Frypan’s little chefs would be out to stoke the fire back to life, but for now the black expanse of the runway yawned beyond their vision, seemingly for miles. 

“You ok?”

“I’m fine.”

Minho nodded his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“Alby got everyone sorted then?”

“They’re all in bed. We’re meeting at 9 to talk things through.”

“Right.”

Minho glanced between Newt and Thomas, who was staring into the last red embers of the fire with his hands dangling loosely at his sides.

“Well I’d better do as Alby says.”

Newt was overwhelmingly relieved that Minho didn’t try to get him to go to bed, or suggest that maybe it wasn’t in his best interests to be sat out in the cold in the early hours of the morning. All he got from his old friend was a nod of the head, then he was gone to his own hammock.

Newt pulled back the blanket silently and Thomas slid in beside him. He kicked at a log and the fire skittered into life for a moment, then settled back into a gentle rumble of gold and red.

“You got her home ok?”

“Yeah. We walked her all the way. She lives in a huge house in that tree-lined part of Maze. Nice place.”

“Not like this, then,” Newt said, looking up at the darkness pressing down from them above, tinged a ghostly grey by the ever present fog.

“No,” Thomas chuckled on a whisper, pressing his cold nose under the skin of Newt’s ear, “Definitely not as nice as this.”

“I suppose it is home,” Newt conceded with a smile. Their lips were cold, or maybe just Newt’s, but it didn’t take long to heat them up.

“This airport is much nicer than my parent's house,” Thomas said, panting a little as they broke apart, “It was a great house. But it wasn’t a home.”

They stayed like that for a moment, their cold breath ghosting on one another’s faces, Thomas’s arms wrapped around Newt’s waist and Newt curled against Thomas’s chest under the blanket. Thomas gave a few kicks at the fire and a little heat bled out of the wood towards them, enough to keep their feet from freezing.

“Tomorrow everyone’s going to find out about my Dad, aren’t they?”

Newt couldn’t see how pretending was going to help now, “Yes. Alby can’t keep that a secret.”

“You didn’t ask him to, did you?”

Newt shook his head. He hadn’t meant to, at least. He’d kept his question about that to Alby neutral, but he was sure his eyes betrayed what he actually wanted to ask.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” Thomas sighed against Newt’s hair.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens we’ll work it out.”

The packing crate wasn’t comfortable but they curled up on top of it anyway. It reminded Newt of the days when they didn’t have hammocks at the Glade. How did it take them that long to work out that there was a more comfortable option? Thomas propped his head against his hand, his elbow pressed into the ratty matting over the wood of the crate, and Newt rolled his head back onto Thomas’s chest.

They didn’t talk about what would happen the next day. Newt pushed all thoughts of what he was going to say at the meeting out of his mind but he knew that Thomas was finding it difficult to do the same. He saw the tension around Thomas’s eyes, the little crease of the skin between his brows as a frown ghosted there, the way his jaw tensed. Newt tried to kiss it away, tried to smooth away the worry and the fear. It was uncomfortable on this crate, Newt couldn’t deny. Their feet were dangling off the edge and the hard wooden slats were unrelenting against them. But their blankets and the slowly rekindling fire kept them warm, the rest of the boys were fast asleep and the darkness gave them their own private cocoon.

And when the kissing moved on to something more Newt didn’t fall asleep halfway through, they weren’t interrupted by another Glader catastrophe, they didn’t get attacked by seagulls and Newt didn’t experience one of his post-poisoning waves of nausea. It was sweet and soft and Newt thought that his heart might pound straight out of his chest. Thomas couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop saying his name like a question, and Newt was more than happy to whisper ‘Tommy’ in return again and again.


	17. The Fall Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas wake to an airport that isn't quite as harmonious as it was the day before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say sorry enough for how long it has been since I updated!! I'm on my knees begging forgiveness from you lovely lovely people, who always comment and kudos and are so nice! Sorry for being this cruel. But I just want to assure you that it was all to do with real life and nothing to do with this story. I'm as in love with writing this universe as I was before, and I am dedicated to finishing this story. Hopefully that's assuring! 
> 
> Real life though...man, that came out of nowhere! It was nothing bad just life got BUSY. How does that happen out of the blue like that?
> 
> Anyway, I should be back to regular posting now. Do let me know what you think.

Newt woke up to the sound of yelling and calls for help. His first thought was 'they're here'. His heart raced in panic. He tried to scramble up out of the warm cocoon he’d slept in but it was tangled about his legs and choking his feet. He tried to roll off the side of the crates but they seemed to stretch endlessly left and right. Thomas was gone and the fog was so close he could barely see in front of him. Figures flitted through the grey cloud and panicked shouts came through in short bursts. He had no idea what was happening and the blankets were wrapping closer and closer around him. Tight enough that he couldn’t breathe, tight enough to feel as though they were squeezing him to death…

“Newt, Newt, wake up. Hey, hey come on Newt, it’s ok, wake up.”

Newt’s senses returned to him a painful rush as he woke. Thomas’s warm arm was under his shoulders and his other hand was on his chest shaking him gently. He could smell the fire and the damp crates beneath him and hear Thomas’s voice echoing in the fog.

“Hey hey it’s me, it’s me, it’s ok.”

“Tommy,” Newt gasped. Thomas was looking down at him with a tight panic across his face. It relaxed a little as he watched Newt come round. He let out a short frightened laugh.

“Whoa. Don’t do that again, Newt. Tryna give me a heart attack?”

“What happened?”

“Think you were having a nightmare.”

“I…yeah I think I was.”

Newt looked down at himself. Thomas had pulled back the blankets that he’d dreamt were suffocating him.

“You were all caught up in these and kicking and yelling. What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know,” Newt lied, “Sorry, sorry. It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

Thomas pulled a few of the blankets back over them and squeezed Newt close to his side.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What time is it?”

The fog above them was milky white, so he guessed at some time early in the morning. The fire had been stoked by someone, probably Thomas. There were discarded chairs and crates everywhere. No-one had done the washing up and the detritus from last night's meal was scattered about: plates left on seats, tin cups abandoned on the floor. Somewhere through the fog he heard a fox call on its last hunt before the morning blossomed fully. 

“I don't know, I left my watch inside and...” he trailed off. 

Newt sighed and kissed Thomas’s chin.

“You can go in there, you know. It’s not like you’re not allowed.”

“I will. Just not right now.”

Newt wriggled his hand out from under the blanket and traced his fingers down Thomas’s jaw, “They’re not mad at you.”

“Some of them are.”

“We knew that some of them would be. But even they…I mean come on, you can’t help who your Dad is.”

“That doesn’t mean that they don’t hate me for it.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“When? Will it be before we all get kicked out of here, because it’d be nice to get back to normal before we all have to leave.”

A cold feeling curled at the bottom of Newt’s stomach. It was a feeling he’d had on and off since they had had the meeting the day before. It was dread, nerves, sadness. He pulled his legs up and curled himself against Thomas’s chest. It helped the feeling somewhat.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Cold?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Does your stomach still hurt?”

“It’s ok.”

“Think you’ve got all of that stuff out of your system now?”

“Well I haven’t thrown up for three days straight. I think that’s a good sign.”

They lay in silence for a few moments longer and then Newt rolled out of the warmth with a reluctant sigh.

“We’d better get the fire piled up. And I need a shower.”

Thomas sat up in the blankets and nodded. Newt hated that stiff, awkward look that Thomas had now. He held himself close, almost nervously, but Newt couldn’t really blame him after the night before. There had been a lot of yelling and finger pointing and that was before anyone even knew about Thomas’s father. A few members of the group had been hurt that someone like Thomas, the greenie, knew about the threat from the Mazers before they did. Others felt that none of this would have happened if Thomas hadn’t shown up and that it was the Wanted posters in town that had sparked this new found interest in them. Many more defended him but Newt could see Thomas flinching silently under the blows and accusations.

And then Alby had explained the connection between Thomas’s father and the Mazers plan to get rid of them through the company that ran the Grievers. A few of the boys had stormed off. Others had demanded Thomas left then and there. Newt was heartened to see how many had come to his defence, outnumbering the accusers three to one at least, but the anger that they felt was overwhelming. For want of another person to blame, they had focussed it on Thomas. Newt had gripped his hand hard under the blankets as they talked, but he wasn't sure if it helped.

Gally had been oddly silent. Newt had tried to get him on his own once Alby had halted the meeting and sent everyone to cool off but suddenly Gally wasn’t at the fireside, and he hadn’t been able to find him since. The rest of the day had passed in a tense cloud of silence. The Gladers had split into small pairs and groups, each with their own opinions as to what they had been told. Newt had heard about plans to leave or ideas on how to fight back if the Mazers came for them. It was hard to see the group separate like that. They had always worked as a large unit and it was the thing that Newt was most proud of in his time at the airport. They had never fallen apart like this before.

Alby had assured Newt that he was sure, given time, everyone would come back to the fire and they would work out what to do next. Newt wasn’t so sure. 

He and Thomas had been the only two left at the fireside when the night rolled in and so they had made their bed on packing crates again. Newt could feel Thomas’s hesitation at going back into the airport even now, but after that second night on the packing crates he wasn’t about to spend another one outside just to avoid confrontation. He never thought he’d miss his hammock this much.

“Want some breakfast?”

“Sure.”

They ate in silence. A few boys joined them as time went on. Everyone was civil, a few even pretended like nothing had happened. But there was a different tone over the group, and they couldn’t avoid that.

They both showered and changed and then Newt felt at a loss on what to do next. It seemed they weren't the only ones. The boys wandered around looking lost and listless. Everyone was quiet and kept themselves to themselves. It was so different to the usual noise and clamour of a day in the Glade. Newt and Thomas finally sat down to play some cards with Winston and Frypan, two people who had stood up for Thomas and hadn’t yet made their minds up on what the group should do next.

“Do we go on a run tonight?” Winston asked into the comfortable silence over the cards.

“We might have to,” Frypan said, “I’m not sure we’ve got enough to feed everyone. And it’s cold, we’re going to need to keep our food intake up.”

“But they’re on the look out for us now.”

“They always have been, Winston. This isn’t going to change how they treat us day to day.”

“What do you think we should do, Newt?”

“About the run?”

“No, about this. Do you think we should stay and fight it? Or leave? Where do we go?”

“I don’t know.”

Newt slapped the winning card down and collected the others’.

“I’m going for a walk,” Thomas said suddenly. He dropped his cards into the middle and stood up before Newt could say anything, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Newt thought about following but knew better than to push it. He handed out the cards again, avoiding the looks Winston and Frypan gave him.

“He ok?”

“He’s fine.”

“Some people were pretty brutal last night.”

“He gets it, it was hard to hear what might happen.”

“But it’s not his fault, is it? This would have happened even if he wasn’t here. They’ve clearly been planning this for a while.”

“I know."

“They’re idiots for thinking otherwise.”

“They’re just scared.”

“We’re all scared _._ None of us want to leave. There’s a reason that we’re all here, right? And what if they come in and _arrest_ us or something?”

Newt slammed down the last card he dealt, “Can we not talk about it right now, please? Can we just play cards? We talked about it all day yesterday and I bet Alby will call a meeting today too. Let’s just have a break.”

“Fine, fine.”

They played a few more rounds but Newt’s mind was elsewhere and he lost badly each time. Winston and Frypan played with little enthusiasm and by the time the fourth game was over they all packed up without discussing it. Across the grass Newt spotted Minho talking to Ben and he took is chance.

When he drew up with them Minho didn’t waste any time, “No-one’s seen Gally since last night.”

“What?”

Ben nodded. He had black bags under his eyes and his hair was rumpled.

“He disappeared after Alby sent everyone to bed.”

“Have you asked around?”

“Everyone.”

“What did Alby say?”

“That we should just leave him to cool off.”

“But he’s been gone all night. This isn’t like Gally, if he wants to blow off steam he’ll do it front of everyone. He doesn’t slink off.”

Ben was right, this wasn’t typical Gally behaviour. Then again Gally hadn’t tossed any insults to Thomas all through the meeting, even when the connection between the Grievers and Thomas’s father came to light. That wasn’t like him either.

“How has he been recently?”

Minho shrugged, but Ben answered without pause, “He was acting a bit weird the last few days but looking back that was probably because he had to keep this secret. Gally’s really bad at that.”

“And after the meeting?”

“He just got up and when I asked him where he was going he said ‘for a walk’.  I didn’t see him the rest of the day. I went to bed early and thought he’d be around when I woke up but…no-one’s seen him.”

Minho ran a hand over his spiked hair, “He’d better not have done anything stupid.”

“What could he do? Even Gally’s not stupid enough to try and take on the whole town of Maze by himself.”

Newt wasn’t even sure that he believed that even as he said it. Ben looked doubtful.

“Maybe he left. Moved out.”

“He can’t have. He would have said goodbye.”

That was true too. Even Gally wouldn’t up and leave without at least saying goodbye. He wasn’t good at being subtle or for making small gestures.

“What do we do?”

“Have you walked around the airport?”

“I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Well let’s split up and do a sweep, all three of us. He could be hiding out somewhere.”

 

* * *

 

By the evening Gally still hadn’t been found, and now it seemed Thomas was missing too. Newt was prowling around the airport trying to find both of them and he wasn't sure which one he hated most for disappearing. He needed Gally to blow up and shout and rile everyone up. It helped, oddly enough, especially in a tense situation like this. It relieved the pressure and stopped any of the others from doing the same. The group felt different without his presence and Newt couldn’t handle this gaping hole in the circle of people he had come so used to.

And he needed Thomas. He was frightened that if he didn’t touch him or see him then he might fly away like smoke. Newt needed him by his side but he was bloody missing. 

Newt kicked out at a bit of garbage on the airport floor. When did he get this needy? He did everything in his life up until this point - including an illness, dealing with his parents’ divorce, moving to America, the mess that was his brother, running away, helping to build the family that was the Gladers - without Thomas there. But now he felt like a part of him was missing when Thomas wasn't with him. 

Teresa arrived at around six that evening. There was no more news, she told them, apart from the now endless discussions taking place in Maze shops, cafes and backyards. The next meeting had been called for January 10th and so they had until then at the very least to work out whether the Mazers had enough money and drive in their pocket to pitch to WCKD.

“Oh hey Newt, can I talk to you for a second?” Teresa asked out of the blue as her update came to a close. 

Minho and Alby exchanged a glance.

“Sure," Newt shot his friends a quieting look, "I’ll walk you home and we can talk.”

Teresa waited until they had left the fireside behind before she spoke. Her coat had wrapped her up so tightly and thickly that she looked like an eskimo next to Newt, who wore only his muddied thin hoody and a pair of gloves he’d borrowed to chop wood. They talked as they ambled through the airport, comfortably close to one another.

“I don’t know how you guys manage here in the winter. It’s freezing.”

“You get used to it. We always have the fire, as well.”

“Is there no heating in the airport?”

“If there was then I’m not sure they’d let us hot-wire it for three years. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, no. How are you feeling after…you know…”

“Being poisoned? I’m fine, thanks.”

“Doctor Kenning at the clinic asked me if I had seen you around. He wanted to know how you were doing.”

“Well I’m pretty sure I’m over it now.”

“And what about Thomas?” She came to a stop on the taxi rank and looked over her shoulder, “I didn’t see him back there.”

“He’s fine,” Newt said, quickly.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked with a little curve of a knowing smile at the edge of her lips.

“He’s ok. It’s just…I don’t know if Alby told you, but Thomas's father is a Senator. A Senator who set up and owns a big chunk of WCKD.”

“Alby didn’t tell me, no, but I already knew. I looked his Dad up after I saw the ‘wanted’ posters in town.”

“Yeah, they weren’t really helpful.”

“And here I thought that you’d like the danger of being with a wanted man,” Thomas said with a sly smile. He had trotted out of the airport as though he had been trying to catch them up. He slipped his arms around Newt’s waist but Newt put his hand out to stop them looping him completely.

“Where were you all day?”

“Around. I just wanted to clear my head.”

“You could have told me where you were. I’ve been looking for you.”

“I was here, I just needed some time alone.”

“Gally’s disappeared and you had too, I didn’t know what to think.”

Thomas leant back a little at the sight of Newt’s scowl, “And you thought, what, that he’d murdered me and buried me under the runway?”

“No.”

“Oh, so the other way around then?”

“I’m not joking,” Newt snapped and knocked Thomas’s hand off his hip, “You didn’t think to tell me where you were after all that’s happened? Did you not think I’d worry?”

“I was gone for like a few hours. I don’t know what you are going on about.”

“The last time I saw you was at six o’clock this morning!”

“Alright, Newt, you know I lost my watch, I didn't know. I'm sorry.”

Newt took a step back and turned to the airport, “Yeah well if you don’t understand why you are apologising then don’t bother.”

Before Thomas could say any more Newt was stalking back to the airport, an angry clanging in his ears chasing him the whole way. It was only when he got to the doors that he remembered he had offered to walk Teresa home. He was ready to turn around and walk back to her when he caught Thomas speaking to her. Teresa nodded, and the two of them turned to walk into town. Newt waited until they were out of sight before he slammed his way into the baggage claims area.

He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at Thomas but his blood was pounding. Every time he thought he had a control over this feeling Thomas started in him, this hot coil in his heart, it confused him all over again. He sat himself down on the baggage carousel and instantly felt worse. This was where he and Thomas had had their first kiss. It had been drunken and sloppy and completely hilarious. He was sure the first kiss with the person you loved was supposed to be a memory filled with rainbows and heavenly choruses. His was filled with the smell of alcohol and the second hand taste of Gally’s disgusting beer.

Wait. Had he just thought about Thomas as ‘the person he loved’? That was new. Newt flopped onto his back. Yeah, that was definitely a new thought.

“Newt?”

He jumped back to a sitting position. A tall figure was shuffling towards him from the back of the baggage reclaim hall, recognisable despite the dark.

“Ben?”

“Yeah.”

Ben took his time walking over and then folded himself onto opposite side of Newt’s carousel.

“You ok Ben?”

“Still can’t find Gally.”

“I’m sure he’s ok, you know. Thomas was hiding out here at the airport all day and I never found him. You can really disappear here.”

Ben nodded and ran a hand through his hair. He looked even more dishevelled than he had done that afternoon when he had insisted on another sweep of the grounds for Gally.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You look terrible.”

He gave Newt an attempt at a smile, “I’m just…worried about him.”

“You don’t need to be. Gally can look after himself.”

They sat like that for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts in the dark.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

“What’s going on between you and Gally?”

Ben swallowed so heavily Newt thought he may have actually swallowed his voice box.

“What?”

“There’s something going on between the two of you, that’s obvious. I just wondered what it was.”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Remember Gally and I used to…let’s just say that I'm good at reading Gally. And he gets this look in his eye when he sees you.”

“It’s nothing, Newt.”

“Ben come on, you can tell me.”

“Can I?”

“Well why not?”

“You just said it yourself, you and Gally used to…”

“We used to shack up when we were bored, Ben. That was it. I liked him, but he was my friend more than anything. And we realised over time that we were only doing it because we were bored and frustrated and lonely. We weren’t in love, or anything like that. It wasn’t even a relationship. I mean, you were there, you saw us. We weren’t a couple, were we?”

“It’s just a bit weird. I don’t want you to think that I’m muscling in or anything.”

“Ben, listen, it’s been a long time Gally and I _stood_ that close to one another, never mind _did_ stuff together. You don’t have to think anything about what we used to be. Just do what you two want to do.”

“I know, I know.”

“So there _is_ something?”

Ben shrugged. Newt could see the high dots of red on his cheeks and all down his throat even through the darkness, “Maybe. I think. I hope.”

“Look at us,” Newt chuckled, “Who’d have thought we’d have all this romance in a big group of boys?”

“Statistics, I guess. More boys there are, the more likely it was to happen.”

“Is that true? How romantic.”

They sat in companionable silence in the dark, Newt momentarily distracted from the turmoil of his thoughts over Thomas by the idea that Gally and Ben might be an item. It was funny, in a sweet way. Ben would be good for Gally. And Gally was the same for Ben then Newt and Minho would have to kick him into shape. 

“Wait, can you hear that?”

“What?”

“Is that a phone ringing?”

* * *

 

Minho held out the mobile to Newt with one eyebrow raised, “Any idea whose this is?”

Newt peered down at the iPhone with a hot blue and yellow spotted cover that rested in the palm of Minho’s hand. The screen told him there had been four missed calls from ‘HOME’.

“No. None of us own a mobile. Where did you find it?"

"Out here by the fire."

Alby drew up at Minhos’ side and checked out the phone, “It’s probably Teresa’s. Did she get home ok?”

“Thomas walked her. Is he back?”

“No, but I guess he wouldn’t be yet.”

“She must have left it by mistake.”

“Maybe her family are wondering where she is. Should we pick up?”

The phone jumped to life and began to vibrate in Minho’s hand.

“Well?”

“No. If we pick up and its her parents they’ll want to know who we are. We can’t let them know that Teresa’s been coming up here. They’ll find a way to twist it.”

“It could be Teresa herself. She could be ringing her phone to see where she left it.”

“In that case we should pick up.”

The discussion had drawn the attention of a few others. They had all been ready to settle down and eat, and Alby was planning on getting together another meeting to try and decide once and for all what the group wanted to do. The last gathering had been a good place to air everyone’s opinions, but now they needed some action.

They waited until the phone stopped ringing.

“Shall we call back?”

“Is it definitely Teresa’s? No-one’s stolen it, have they?”

Newt took the phone and scrolled through the contacts, “No, it’s Teresa’s. There’s the name of the doctors at the clinic she works in here. It must be.”

He passed it back to Minho, “Just pick it up and if it's her parents pretend that you’re someone who found it on the street.”

“Alright.”

The group paused. It felt ridiculous, ten of them staring at a phone and waiting for it to ring. When it finally trilled they all leapt out of their skin. A few laughed.

“Ok, ok, here goes.”

Minho hit the call button and pressed it to his ear, “Hello?”

They snickered at Minho’s attempt at some sort of professional phone voice. He flashed a grin back at them, but then the person on the other end started speaking.

“Teresa? Yeah, yeah, it’s Minho.”

“Did she get home ok?” Newt asked him in a whisper, peeling off his gloves. His hands suddenly felt hot and clammy. He wondered how long it would take Thomas to get back so that they could talk about their argument. He felt like they both needed to do some apologising.

“Teresa, stop, stop, one second, start again, you’re talking too fast…Ok, calm down, tell me…What’s happened to Thomas?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger...I know, I know, I'll get back on my knees to beg for forgiveness...


	18. WCKD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet the face of WCKD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you are all amazing. There's just no point me trying to explain why this hasn't been updated in so long, only that I'm really, really sorry it has taken this amount of time. I've loved everyone of your comments and held this story very close in my mind for all the time I've not updated. Life just gets in the way sometimes!  
> I am putting this chapter up the second I write it, I'm too afraid if I spend time checking it over it'll never go up. I'm desperate to get this up. It's like a creative cramp! I just hope, hope, hope it lives up to expectations. I am so excited to be back with my Glade Airport boys!!

Thomas opened his eyes and groaned. For a moment he heard the whispers of his dreams chasing him back into the room. Soft voices, laughter, a familiarity like hearing English in a foreign land. Then they were gone, and everything from his shoulders down began to stiffen into one long line of tension.

“Oh great. Still here.”

Gally was sat up on the opposite bed, arms resting on top of his knees, eyes somewhere at a point two feet above Thomas’s head.

“Still here.”

“Just where I want to be. Locked in a room with you.”

Thomas tried to sit up but quickly realised he didn’t have the energy. He rolled over to face Gally instead, “How had I not noticed until now how much you snored?”

“Because you spent all night with Newt’s tongue in your ear.”

“Wow that was lame, even for you.”

And this is what it had been liked for three days. Eat, sleep, snark, repeat. Thomas would say it was the longest three days of his life, but he had previously been locked in a basement for weeks on end. It certainly ranked a close second though. 

“No sign of anyone?”

“No.”

Gally rubbed his hands, “I’m starving. What if they forget to give us food?”

“If they let two kids die in this completely illegal prison they’ve got going on then they’ve got more problems than low pay.”

“How long do strikes go on for?”

“God knows. At least it’s stopping us from being shipped off out of Maze for a while.”

Gally scratched at a scab on his arm, “You think they’re talking to your Dad about the strike?”

“Not my Dad, it’ll be my Uncle. My Dad doesn’t like getting his hands dirty and my uncle likes firing people.”

“You have such a great family.”

“Why do you think I ended up in the Glade?”

Gally wandered over to the door and peered through the small glass window that was their only view of the building beyond their room.

“I’m starving.”

“Can you think about something over than your stomach?”

“I can’t think about anything on an empty stomach.”

And Thomas couldn’t sit there for another day thinking up A Million And One Terrible Ways to Escape. He decided to change tact.

“What’s going on with you and Ben then?”

“Oh shut your mouth right now Greenie or I’ll use your head to break down this door.”

“Go on, admit it, you want to fold out a double hammock and get into it with Ben.”

Gally didn’t look away from the window he was peering through.

“Alright. Fine. Ignore your feelings. I hear that’s healthy.”

Thomas tentatively touched the bruise that was swelling up under his eye. Gally turned and caught him testing the skin tenderly. 

“He’ll be worried about you,” Gally said quietly.

“They’ll all be worried about us.”

Gally turned away from the door and scuffed his way back to his narrow cot bed, “But Newt will be going all kinds of crazy. He’d chew his way through that wall if he had to. He doesn’t give up on anything very easily.”

Thomas tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. The last two mornings he had woken up cold and confused, but hopeful. Something might happen, anything, even them being moved out of here would give them a chance. But the hope would inevitably give away to fear, and a low level sting of panic. He could feel it crawl around inside him all day until by the afternoon it was firmly lodged in his chest. The only way he could stop it from consuming him entirely was talking. Gally let him. Perhaps he’d figured out that Thomas needed the noise and the chatter.

“Hey!” Gally yelled at the door, “I need the bathroom you jackasses!”

There was a long pause and then one of the more tired, world-weary WCKD employees came to the door.

“What?” he asked through the glass.

“We need to take a whizz.”

“Look, kid, you’re giving me a headache.”

“Let us go to the bathroom.”

“Alright, alright, let me go and get another guard.”

“Another day in paradise,” Thomas said, dryly, as they waited to be escorted to the bathroom.

“I tell you what, your boyfriend had better be coming up with a plan to get us out of this situation,” Gally said to him as they were frogmarched out of the door, “Or I’m going to pull all of his blonde hair out and make him eat it.”

 

* * *

 

“I wonder how they are,” Newt said to no-one in particular. Minho was pacing around the edge of the firelight, a figure of pent up fury. Frypan was trying his best to keep the smiles going, but they were few and far between.

“Have we heard anything from Theresa?” Ben asked eventually.

“She just said that the strike was still on.”

“We still have time.”

“To do what, Frypan? Storm the WCKD office? They are fully grown men with actual weapons. We’re a bunch of kids with rocks.”

“What they are doing is illegal, that’s what Theresa said.”

“We all knew that,” Ben grumbled, “They killed George. They nearly killed Newt.”

A murmur rippled through the group. That was all the past few days had been - laying about in heaps around the airport, fractious and frightened, with sudden flashes of anger directed at the world beyond their perimeter fence flaring then smouldering back into silence.

Newt traced a streak of purple across the sky, the last finger of daylight. The end of the third day since Theresa said: “They’ve taken Thomas. It’s my fault, I’m sorry, oh god I don’t know where they’ve taken him.”

They hadn’t seen her in three days, but they had heard a lot from her. She used a friend’s phone to send updates to her own phone, which the boys still had and could run out of battery at any moment.

Newt had wanted to go down there the minute he had heard that panic in her voice, the way she’d said Thomas’s name. But he had squashed the desire, and he’d followed Minho all the way to the edge of town and talked him into coming back. It was not the time to act without thinking.

Three days of thinking later and Newt wondered if he shouldn’t have let Minho crash into that building and have at it.

What had saved them was the strike. WCKD employers in their state were not paid well enough for the rough hours they worked, according to the flyer Theresa had photographed and sent to them. They were refusing to patrol the town’s streets until they were given fairer pay. There hadn’t been any runs since Thomas and Gally were taken, so Newt didn’t feel that the Grievers were getting the full affect of their strike. Not that that mattered. He just wanted Thomas back.

“They keep any kids they snatch in a small building near the harbour,” Theresa had explained to them, her voice ringing out around the airport on speaker phone, “They’re usually kept there for twenty four hours and then taken back home or to the authorities. The WCKD strike is going on for four days and then they’re back to work, and Newt and Gally will be shipped out.”

She’d sent them more updates in dribs and drabs, the last one a text that was frustratingly vague.

“‘I’m going to talk to my Dad tonight. He may be able to help. Hang tight.’”

Newt grabbed a blanket and shrugged himself under it. The packing crate was cold and hard underneath him.

“Can we ring Theresa?”

“Not yet. She said she’d ring us when she’d talked to her Dad.”

“How can her Dad help?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re running out of time. Tomorrow is the last day of their strike.”

The lonely sound of the last bird of the day sang out across the airport and quietened the group down. The space around them suddenly felt too black and too big.

“I’m going to bed,” Jeff said.

“Yeah me too.”

“Might as well, got nothing else to do.”

It left only Minho, Alby and Newt by the fire.

“I have an idea,” Newt said into the cold night air above him. The other two boys didn’t look up from the fire.

“You know what, Newt?” Minho said, “I didn’t doubt that for a second.”

 

 

* * *

 

“I’m gonna kill you!”

The shouting was much too loud for the confined space. It made the cheap metal bed frames rattle. 

“Oh yeah go on then you fucking coward!”

The words smacked like a whip off the wall. The door rattled in its hinge as Gally shoved Thomas across the room, sending him crashing into one of the flimsy cots.

“This is your fault, _your_ fault you son of a bitch! You brought them here, you ruined everything.”

“What are you going to do about it then slinthead?”

Thomas knocked Gally’s hand off him and gave him a push, “What? All bark and no bite that’s you Gally. You pretend you’re a hard ass but you’re a soft little _girl_ underneath it all.”

The man watching them at the window turned to his superior.

“They’re really fighting in their now Bob.”

“Oh man, I do not have the energy for this.”

There was the sound of fist meeting flesh and the door rattled again.

“If they kill each other in there we’re going to be up to our eyeballs in shit.”

“I told that damn patrol not to bring anyone in on the night before this strike. Just because Mac got all excited when he realised that kid was Mr Greener’s.”

“Yeah well the big kid is about to kill Mr Greener’s boy, so we’d better do something.”

Bob heaved himself out of his chair. He was too damn tired for this. The only reason he incited everyone to strike was so that he could sit down and have some peace and quiet in the office for once. He was of the old guard, the ones that sat at the desks on the night shifts and watched _Friends_ reruns. So naturally he was the perfect candidate to represent the disgruntled WCKD workers. The younger guys, the ones who actually did the shitty work of rounding up the kids, had gone drinking at Sammy’s bar down by the water. Fat lot of good they were.

“Oi, you two better stop!” he yelled through the door, tapping a thick finger against the glass. It didn’t seem to do anything. The scrawny kid - Greener’s boy - had the other one in a headlock. Oh god, there was blood. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it if one of them died in this cell. There was that damn lawyer who’d been making threats and yapping all around town about an abuse of power. Liberal lefties, Bob thought sourly. He understood the legality of actually keeping these kids here was thin at best and normally he’d never feel comfortable with locking teenagers up. But these weren’t normal kids. No better than rats. He’d been brought up in a big city where these sorts of kids had run the streets; runaways, drop-outs, druggies the lot of them. Give them a funny look and they put a hole in you. If he could stop a town like Maze being terrorised in the same way, he’d feel pretty good about it.

But even he drew the line at letting two of these knuckleheads kill each other.

“Stop!” he yelled again, just in case. Nothing. The big one now had Greener pinned to the floor.

“Alright, go and get some of the other guys, Jack.”

“Don’t think we can take?”

Bob looked his scrawny, barely-out-of-high-school, colleague up and down. Then he looked down at his own expansive gut.

“Go get some of the others before one of them does something stupid.”

Bob watched Jack leave with all the urgency of a man on a beach stroll. He missed the days when he was young enough and fit enough to work alongside actual security professionals, rather than this group of overweight, under skilled idiots.

That was when he noticed how everything in the room had gone quiet. And when he saw Greener’s kid stretched on the floor, blood like a red halo about his head, all he could see was his pension disappearing before his eyes.

“Holy fuck.”

 

* * *

 

Newt and Alby were the first in through the battered back gate.

“You think a security company would have better security,” Minho said as he slunk in behind them. Newt shushed him. They kept low and close to the wall of the building, whose cold brick lines they followed to the closest fire exit. Which was firmly locked from the inside.

“Maybe their security isn’t that bad.”

“Minho be quiet.”

“What do we do now?”

Alby flashed the bolt cutters.

“There ain’t no bolts to cut, Alby.”

A square of light lit up in the window of the fire exit. Newt gave Minho a shove to the side and the four intruders - Ben, Newt, Alby and Minho - flattened themselves against the walls like shadows. They were good at this, at becoming invisible. Newt’s breathing slowed down, his whole body ready but relaxed. He rested his head against the cool brick and watched the door open from the corner of his eyes. A pair of scuffed boots came out onto the raised metal fire escape, about a foot above their heads. A small orange dot flared against the night and then one of the WCKD men exhaled, and the smell of a Marlboro finally hit Newt. His Dad had always smoked Marlboros.

The man had got through three drags of his cigarette when there were a handful of clatters and shouts behind him.

“Dave!”

“What?” the man on the fire escape called back.

“Bob wants you.”

“Why?”

“Those two kids are killing each other, he needs help pulling them apart.”

“Let them. We’re on strike.”

“Just come, now.”

Dave did some grumbling, and tenderly stubbed out his cigarette so that he could come back to it later.

“I’m coming.”

All that time and he hadn’t noticed Newt or the others right under his feet. As he turned to leave, Newt slipped a hand upwards to the metal guardrail around the fire escape and lifted himself up. He felt the stretch of muscles unused since his trip to the hospital, winced at the pop of joints that had got too used to his bed rest. But then he was up and onto the fire escape and the cold of the metal against his hands and knees made him forget the complaints of his body. As the door swung shut he reached forward to grab the small external handle. He let it close - almost - and then held it just short of the latch falling into place. The footsteps of Dave retreating into the building fell away.

Newt waited two breaths then eased the door back open. They were in.

 

* * *

 

Pretending to be unconscious was harder than it looked. Thomas could hear boots stamping around his head and frustratingly confusing conversations above him. He tried to fight the urge to let his eyelashes flutter, or for his eyes to move behind his lids. The worse it looked, the better. Between them he and Gally had managed to make it look as dramatic as possible, but they had to really sell it now to make it work.

“Who knows first aid?”

“I think it’s Sal, isn’t it? I think she’s at the bar with the others.”

“For Christ’s sake. Do you know who this one is? He’s our boss’s son. You think he’s going to give us a pay rise now? Bob you were in charge here, what the hell happened?”

“They just started beating the shit out of each other.”

“Get him out of here. Lock the other one in here after us.”

Thomas felt a hand reach out for him, felt the pads of fingers touch his shoulder, and then someone’s cell phone rang.

“Hello? Yeah. He’s what? Oh shit. Oh, right, sure, I’m coming.”

“Who was that?”

“Janson. He’s here, now. Just get the kid awake up, clean the blood up as well for god’s sake.”

Thomas was up and on his feet before they could crowd back around him. Gally yelled his name, but it was his uncle’s name that still echoed around his head. His uncle was here. He had to get out. He shot for the door, managing to get his shoulders to it before the bewildered Griever on the other side could slam it shut. He turned to see Gally use the surprise to yank his way free. The plan had been to get them both out into the corridors before they made their break but Thomas’s mind was cartwheeling.

His Uncle went by the name of Janson when he worked. According to Thomas’s Dad this went all the way back to childhood. He apparently told the older kids he sold smokes to that his name was Janson; no-one knew where he got the idea for the name from. Probably because ‘Adam’ didn’t hold much mystery or allure. Thomas knew he had a third nickname too, discoered it back on a thanksgiving when his father had sunk his bodyweight in whiskey and told his brother: ‘Mum was right about you Adam. You’re a rat. You’ve got a rat face and you’re about as welcome in my house as a damn rat. Get out.’

It was the only time Thomas had ever seen them fight. His uncle had quietly narrowed his eyes, and then offered Thomas’s mother more gravy. She’d just blinked back at him, too shocked to say anything. His Dad had been quickly poured into bed but later that night, when Thomas was on washing up duty in the kitchen and his uncle had come to stand next to him by the sink, he’d known exactly what his grandmother had meant. It wasn’t just the thinness of his face, it was the narrowness of his gaze. As though you were the one thing he wanted, and the one thing he was going to get. No matter what sort of a fight you put up.

Thomas crashed around a corner and somehow through the blur he knew Gally was right behind him. They clattered down another endless white corridor, the place proving itself to be a rabbit warren. Thomas was about to stop, to work out where the hell they were going, when suddenly there was Newt. His blonde hair was standing on end and he looked completely wild. Alby was there next, menacingly swinging a pair of bolt cutters, and behind him Minho and Ben came upon them with the words already tumbling out of their mouths.

“Thomas, Gally, shit. What the klunk happened to you?”

Apparently Thomas had lost the ability to speak, so Gally chipped in, “I pretended I’d knocked him out and we got away in the confusion.”

“Thomas you’re bleeding.”

“He’s fine. Aren’t you Thomas?”

He wanted to say that yes, he was, but Newt was still looking at him like he was going to punch something. Not Thomas, but maybe a wall. Or one of the other boys, if they got in his way. He was busy tearing Thomas apart with his eyes, because dammit he wasn’t going to let Gally tell him that Thomas was fine if he wasn’t. Eventually Thomas found his tongue.

“I’m ok, Newt. I’m fine.”

Newt finally looked him in the eye. He didn’t know what to say, and Thomas didn’t either, so he just stepped forward and took Thomas’s hand as he stepped alongside him, crushing their fingers between their hot torsos as he checked the corridor behind them. There was a lot of shouting going on down the way Thomas and Gally had come. They had to leave.

“Let’s go.”

“How did you get in?”

“Fire escape.”

“You knew they were on strike?”

“Theresa told us. We knew this was our last chance.”

“They left all the fat old guys behind to keep shop.”

“You’re bloody lucky.” Newt turned his fierce look to Gally now, who was standing awkwardly next to Ben, discovering something fascinating in his bootlaces. 

“You’re both ok?”

“We’re fine.”

“Come on guys. We have to go.”

They got three feet down the corridor before a man rounded the corner ahead of them the fire escape. Newt paused, unsure who this was. He wasn’t dressed like the rest of WCKD. In fact, he looked pretty out of place in a sharp grey suit. There was a crescendo of noise building behind them. They had to move. 

“We’re leaving,” Newt said, hoping his voice didn’t betray how frightened he was, “You can’t keep any of us here.”

“Indulge me for a moment.”

“Who are you?” Ben asked, sounding about as unsure as Newt felt.

“I’m someone whose…let’s say ‘interested’, in the lot of you,” the man said, the harsh strip lights catching the grey shot through his hair as he tilted his head.“I heard my men had brought two of you in.”

He lifted a hand and counted them with one finger in the air.

“And yet I see six of you. Which two had the pleasure of being hosted here for the past three days?”

“Me and him,” Gally said, jutting his chin to Newt,suddenly careful to keep his face impassive. He knew better than to doubt his old friend when he told a lie like that, “And we’re fucking leaving, whether you like it or not. It’s illegal this. You’re not just allowed to lock kids up.”

“If you’re committing a crime, I think we have a very good reason to keep you in check.”

“If they want us locked up then send in the cops.”

“The police have better things to do, so they say. And that is where companies like myself come in. We live in a capitalist society, son. When the government fails, companies like WCKD pick up the slack.”

The boys waited in the silence, panting. Any minute now the rest of WCKD would come bearing down on them. Newt tensed himself, ready to lead the rush forward, when the man in front of them said, “Thomas.”

Newt looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed that Thomas had sunk back behind him, head lowered slightly and turned away. He was completely still.

“Good to see you, Thomas. Your mother’s so worried about you.”

“We’re leaving now and you can’t stop us,” Minho said into the cold silence that followed. He surged ahead and the rest followed him. Newt tugged on Thomas’s hand and felt the leaden weight of Thomas’s body being pulled forward. The man didn’t move from his spot by the door. Minho got to him first. He opened his mouth to say something - a threat, a warning, something typically Minho no doubt - when behind them someone spoke clearly and firmly, “Janson.”

The man looked up over the boys’ shoulders. If he was surprised he didn’t show it.

“Jorge. Long time no see.” He said the words with no affection.

“Indeed.”

Jorge was a tall, no nonsense looking man in a pair in a long grey peacoat. He nodded a head towards the boys.

“They’re coming with me.”

“Are they now?” Janson said, a hard edge to his voice.

“They are indeed. If they’ve committed a crime then you can call the sheriff’s department and have them arrested. Until then, I can watch them. Better than a mock prison with neglectful, police-force rejects for guards, don’t you think?”

“They have committed a crime, Jorge. They rob the citizens of Maze blind. You should know that yourself.”

“Then call the police and let them deal with it. Until then-” Jorge reached out a hand, “Boys, come with me.”

Alby was the first one to move. It was strange how much younger he looked, standing alongside an adult. Newt hadn’t seen him as any other than their leader in so long. He suddenly felt so tired. His stomach was hurting, and he was sweating. He needed to get out of here. He could feel Thomas beside him, cold and unmoving. More importably he had to get Thomas out of here. He followed calmly behind Alby, hand gripping Thomas’s, and he felt more than saw the others come along to. Jorge gave them each a soft smile as they joined him, “Come on, we’d best be going.”

He shepherded them all past him, down the corridor. He turned to say something to Janson, Newt didn’t hear what. And then they were being led out of the front door. Flashes of white light hit them, making Newt stumble back, but Jorge put a hand between his shoulder blades and urged them gently but firmly onwards. A crowd had gathered by the front gates. They walked numbly past them, cameras flashing, the WCKD guards standing tensely to the side. Occasionally they swore at someone taking photographs. On the curb, fighting to stay ahead amongst the crowd, Theresa emerged.

“Hey guys,” she said, almost sheepishly, “Come on, follow me.”

Newt realised he’d lost hold of Thomas’s hand. His vision was scarred with purple from the flash, but he could see the vacant look on Thomas’s face, as though he’d fallen somewhere far into himself. He slid his arm around Thomas’s middle and whispered in his ear, “Come on, Tommy.”

Thomas looked up. He seemed to come to himself a little, “That was my uncle.”

“I know.”

Someone nearly jostled them, but suddenly Jorge was there again, steering them after Theresa.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

Thomas was gripping Newt’s hand now.

“I just want to go back to the Glade.”

“I know, Tommy. Me too.”

 


	19. Jorge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorge has some answers, but not all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.....hey.

Jorge had made them all sandwiches. Newt didn’t feel like eating, but it seemed rude not to. Theresa handed a the second plate that was doing the rounds. She looked somewhere between embarrassed and determined. Newt took one from the top and crushed it into his mouth, hoping that she wouldn’t ask him any questions. Her sister Brenda - with short brown hair and big flashing eyes - was serving up the second plate of sandwiches. She had a bowl of crisps in her other hand, her narrow framed body wrapped up in a parka even though they were inside and the house’s heating was on full blast. They’d been introduced when they were ushered into the living room of Jorge’s home. A picture of the three of them - Jorge, Brenda and Theresa - sat proudly on the mantlepiece. In it they were perched on the balcony of a ski lodge, the snow blindingly white behind them. 

 Brenda seemed to be fascinated by Ben, so her plate of sandwiches was all but abandoned on her lap. She fired questions at him, but seemed to do most of the responding herself, and couldn’t take her eyes off him. Gally sat facing them on one of the nicely upholstered footstools, with his eyebrows all bunched up in the middle. 

“Brenda,” Theresa said, in that way older sisters spoke to their younger ones. Brenda rolled her eyes and pushed the sandwich plate onto Alby’s lab. 

“Here, have a sandwich.”

She stood up and called into the kitchen, “Dad can we get some cokes?” She finally shrugged off the parka and Newt caught the theatre group insignia of the local high school. 

Jorge came through the door, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a tea towel in his hands, “Sure, get one for everyone. You boys all ok?”

Newt looked across at Minho, who had half a ham sandwich hanging out of his mouth. They both nodded. 

“Good, good.”

Minho swallowed his sandwich and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “What is going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sh,” Alby hissed at them. 

“You can leave,” Theresa said, the plate wobbling nervously in her hand, “You can leave whenever you want. The front door is open. Well it’s actually locked, but that’s because my Dad’s worried about reporters trying to get in. But we’ll unlock it. You can go back to the airport anytime you want. My Dad just wants to help.”

Brenda’s phone went off. She kicked back in one of the armchairs and started to tap away at the screen.

Newt pushed another sandwich in his mouth because he didn’t know what else to do. The last two hours had been a blur of lights and panic. Then they’d found themselves heaped onto Jorge’s front living room furniture, stewing in the warmth of central heating. Newt hadn’t felt central heating for years. A radiator blasting constant heat, an interrupted source of warmth. He scrubbed his hands against his jeans. Dried blood and mud flaked off his skin onto the denim. Mud, always mud. It was like the stuff was tattooed into his very pores. He was never fully clean, it had been years since he shone like someone who lived in a proper house. He was too dirty for a home, too ragged. He couldn’t sit on a couch like this on upholstery that was clean, in a room that smelt like orange and vanilla. Jorge didn’t seem to mind, but when Newt looked around the room he knew how strange this looked. This filthy group of boys who so desperately wanted a home and yet didn’t seem to know how to sit properly in one. 

Newt pushed a hand down the side of his leg and found Thomas’s where it was braced against the side of the couch. He tried his best to loosen Thomas’s grip, but it was like his hands had gone into rigor mortis. So Newt settled for stoking his thumb over the back of his knuckles. 

“What do we do now?” Newt asked Alby in a stage whisper. The others all heard him regardless and every face in the room turned towards them. 

Brenda was looking too, “So are you, like, their leader?”

“Shut up, Brenda,” Theresa said. She sounded as tired as she looked. 

“Theresa, what is happening? Who is your Dad?”

Theresa flicked a glance over at the kitchen door. There was some gentle tapping and movement beyond the doorway, the sound of a radio playing. 

“He’s a lawyer.”

“You said that before. What has it got to do with us?”

“He wants to help. He _can_ help. Look, what’s going on in this town is not right. It’s not fair. And there’s a reason behind it.”

“A reason?”

“A reason they’re behaving this way. A reason they give you just enough freedom to make you stay, but enough to make you fear being caught.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Theresa,” Jorge called from the kitchen. Theresa stood up and handed the plate of sandwiches to Alby, “Dad will explain. He can help. I promise. Just let him help you, I swear it’ll be ok.”

She hurried off to the kitchen. Brenda paused for a moment then slouched off after her. A hefty silence fell across the living room. It was Minho who broke it. 

“Let’s go.”

“What?”

“I want to go home. I want to go back to the Glade this is…everything about this is messed up and I don’t know why we have to stay. Let’s just go home.”

“After all that, you don’t think they’re going to bother marching up that last bit of road and come to the Glade? And take us back? Minho, we went in their and messed with half of those Grievers. They’ll want to get us for it.”

“They’re all on strike, you heard them. They only got off their asses when Thomas and Gally threatened to kill each other. They’re not going to come up to get us, just like they never have.”

Thomas’s voice was dry and scratched when he spoke, “Do you never wonder why?”

“Why? Maybe because it’s been three years, and they’ve never come for us before.”

“And you never asked why?”

“Of course we asked. And we’ve worked it out, because they don’t have the money or the authority to get up to the airport. That’s how it’s always been. They were hired to keep us out of Maze, not to actually get rid of us once and for all.”

“They don’t have the authority to lock kids up. Or to poison us. Or to send people out to hunt us on the streets. But they do that. You think a little town boundary would stop them? If they were hired to come up and get us?”

The group fell quiet. Thomas’s hand shook underneath Newt’s fingertips, “If my uncle is behind this, then there’s a reason. There’s always a _reason_. My Dad knows how to make money, but my uncle knows how to get what he wants. If he’s in charge of this part of WCKD, then he’s doing _everything_ for a reason.”

“Then what do you expect us to do? Stay here? In this guy’s house? We don’t even know him. We barely know Teresa.”

“Minho’s right. We need to go back to the Glade, that’s our home. Who knows what is happening back there.”

“They’ll think we’re dead,” Ben chipped in, “We have to tell them we’re ok.”

“But if we stay here, maybe we can work out what the hell is going on.”

“Do you trust this guy Jorge?”

Thomas shook his head, “It’s not about trust, it’s about answers. He can give us answers.”

Gally stood up swiftly, nearly knocking a plate of sandwiches over, “I’m going back. I’m not sitting here any longer.”

“Gally-”

“We don’t belong here, we need to get back to where we do. Screw this, I’m not sitting here and talking about this anymore. I’m going back to the Glade.”

Even as he said it his eyes flickered to the kitchen. Raised voices filtered out above the sound of the radio. Teresa was arguing with her Dad. 

“Gally, we have to talk about this-”

“No. We don’t. We don’t have to do everything by committee. If you don’t want to come back to the Glade now, that’s fine. But don’t blame me if you end up not being able to come back later on.”

He paused, looking down at them all. Minho and Alby exchanged looks but no-one said anything. Ben stood up too. 

“Ben.”

“Gally’s right guys, what’s the point in staying? We might as well go back and regroup. This doesn’t change anything.”

“We could get answers.”

“We could get locked up.”

Newt rubbed a hand over his face, “We’re going round in circles.”

“No, we’re going back to the Glade.”

Minho eased himself to his feet. He looked uncomfortable as he moved, an injury sustained at some point in the evening. 

“I’m going back too.” He turned to the kitchen, “I don’t know who he is, and I don’t care. Gally’s right. It doesn’t change anything.”

Newt turned to look at Thomas. 

“What can you tell us about your uncle?”

“Adam Janson. He runs parts of my Dad’s companies, the ones he tries to keep out of the public eye. He runs WCKD.”

They turned in unison as the kitchen door clicked shut behind Jorge. Teresa and Brenda were nowhere to be seen, and there was no sound beyond the door now. Jorge went to lean against the mantle. 

“You all had enough to eat?”

“We want to go home,” Gally said. His defiance seemed so small in this setting. Newt couldn’t help but see all of them as what they were: children.

“You can leave whenever you want boys, I promise I’m not here to stop you. But I feel like it’d be remiss of me not to tell you what is going on.”

Alby shuffled in his seat, “We have questions.”

“Of course you do. Maybe if you let me give you a few details, you can see if that answers some of them. Is that ok?”

They all swapped looks, except for Thomas, who remained stiff and unyielding next to Newt with his eyes pinned to the far corner. 

“Alright. Tell us.”

Jorge started to roll back down the sleeves of his shirt that were flecked with water and suds. He’d been washing up. 

“I lived in Maze all my life until I went to college. My parents died whilst I was there and I didn’t come back for many years. I met my wife, finished my training as a lawyer, and went where my work took me. All over America and often beyond. When we had Teresa and Brenda we decided to settle, and so I came back to Maze. I saw this town go through its hard times. Industry left town, jobs went, and soon most people were turning to tourism to make money. And WCKD came to town.”

“I thought they only came here to deal with us?”

“No, they were in established in town for about 2 or 3 years before. Maze was beginning to depend on tourism, but the town’s crime record was notoriously high when people started to lose their jobs. It didn’t fit the image they wanted to project. So the town council brought in WCKD. It was unpopular at first, since it raised the town’s taxes, but WCKD were ruthlessly efficient and suddenly the crime stats dropped to an all-time low. But the Maze council quickly ran out of money and WCKD didn’t fancy carrying on pro-bono. Tourism was going ok, so they hoped for the best and were about to ditch their contract. Then the first of you boys came into town. Drawn by the abandoned airport, by Maze’s low profile, by how easy it is to come out here and disappear in the town’s fog. When you started surviving by what you took from the town, WCKD were just about to pack up and leave.”

Whilst the others looked around the room almost sheepishly, uncomfortable and ready to bolt, Alby’s eyes were fiercely pinned to Jorge. It reminded Newt that Alby had been the first one at the airport. The first lost boy, the one who set up their little haven. And even he didn’t know what they had set themselves up for. 

“Maze’s council begged them to stay. They’d get the money from somewhere, they promised, though they knew a tax hike would only cause resentment. WCKD refused. Maze tried to get their local police force into shape, but they barely had the money for their pension pot. They ended up beaming absorbed into the local area’s police force and so none of them were dedicated solely to the town. Definitely not with enough strength to be able to keep the crime stats down like WCKD had done. 

The town council held a meeting to discuss our contract with WCKD. I went along as a private citizen and a lawyer, the council hoping that I would help them find a loophole that could make them stay a little longer. I didn’t find such a thing, but when WCKD turned up it wasn’t the same contractor they had dealt with before. It was Adam Janson. The CEO, he told us, who had flown over personally when he heard about the plight of Maze. Of course the town council fell head over heels for him. He seemed to care about them, after all. He had a proposal that would mean WCKD could stay in the town at a significantly reduced rate.”

“What was the deal?” Alby said, the muscles in his jaw jumping beneath his skin.

“I wasn’t allowed to hear it. The council worried that as a lawyer outside of the official council chambers that I could leak whatever sordid deal they were about to make. Because it was going to be sordid. What private company strikes a deal with a debt-ridden town that hadn’t been able to pay it the month before? One that wants something. I was told to leave, thank you for my time, they would sort this out. Next thing I knew there were publicity campaigns about town on how to deal with you boys, posters etcetera. And suddenly WCKD were staying in town for another year and encouraged hatred of you kids. Not long after the came back on the job, a boy died.”

“George,” Newt said quietly. 

Jorge inclined his head, “I didn’t know his name. George. There was a bit of a storm as to how that could have happened, but WCKD assured everyone that he died of natural causes.”

Gally’s growl was disgust and anger all at once. 

“They promised the way they kept you kids out of the town was fair and evenhanded. Many asked why they couldn’t just go up there and root you boys out themselves. No-one ever got an answer from that. WCKD would refer them to their councillors for that sort of question, and the councillor’s fudged their answers. They never had one.”

“But why? They were paying WCKD just enough to hunt us in Maze but not actually get rid of us? What benefit did that have for the town?”

“The crime stats dropped. Significantly.”

“How? We stole from them. Every night.”

“I don’t know. That was what I asked our town’s councilmen and women. WCKD may be in town but they are simply capturing any boy they see, not dealing with the root cause of the problem. How have our figures dropped? They told us simply that crime had dropped significantly, that you boys were starting to leave the airport and that the reports of food being stolen were exaggerated.”

“They were lying. They made up crime statistics?”

“Boldly. The whole town new it. But no-one knew why. Some believed that the town were too scared to take drastic action, lest they be reprimanded by the state for being too harsh with runaway children. Some thought WCKD were being paid so much to stay that they weren’t bothering to do the job properly so the town had to lie to cover their tracks. This was when tensions started to get worse and some people took things in their own hands. And you, Newt, you paid the price of that.”

Newt nodded. He felt clammy underneath his clothes. It was too hot and stuffy in this room. He needed cold night air. He needed the rough scratch of his hammock with a draught chasing across his blankets. The wall were squeezing his lungs dry.

“Nobody was happy with WCKD any more, but their contract remained. It came up for renewal and this time WCKD faced an internal problem. It’s staff were unhappy. They were being paid much less than other branches of WCKD and wanted fair pay. As you know, the strike has been going on for a few days. Though now Janson is in town, I doubt it will last for long.”

“That still doesn’t give us the answer as to why WCKD let us stay at the airport.”

“I always thought it was one of two things. That WCKD didn’t want to get rid of you permanently because that meant their contract would end. Stick a few WCKD guards in the airport to keep you from returning, hound you out of town, job done. But no more money for WCKD. So I took a look at the town’s budget report. They are paying WCKD pittance. Why would such a large company care to be paid so little every month? I’ve repeatedly asked for meetings with Janson and tried to get the ear of the State. I want to let them know that the way he is dealing with this situation - especially as it involves minors - is far beyond what he is legally allowed to do. Janson’s rejected all my requests and I’ve had a hard time getting anyone to listen. But now I have. An old law school friend of mine has moved into the State’s legal department and is going to make a formal State request to see the contract with WCKD. And Janson’s finally agreed to a meeting.”

“When?”

“Two days time. The strike has made a dialogue difficult. Tonight when I heard that two boys had been taken in by WCKD, I went down there to see Janson straight away.”

Jorge eased himself away from the mantlepiece and folded his arms across his chest, “I’m sorry that I don’t have all the answers for you boys. But I hope to give you a clear picture soon.”

The room fell quiet. Gally had remained standing the whole way through and his legs had stiffened as though he were now rooted to that spot. Ben spoke first. 

“What do you think Janson wants with us?”

Jorge’s implacably calm face now became grimace, “I think he’s using you as an experiment.”

“Experiment for what?”

“I don’t yet know. All I know is that he once said he had learnt a lot about you boys. And that he knew the way you would behave. It was a way to placate the town council when WCKD refused to make removing you from their airport as part of their contract. He said he had studied you carefully, and he was sure you were not a threat to the lives of the people of Maze.”

“ _Studied_ us? How? We’ve never seen him before in our lives, how could he have studied us?”

Thomas stood up abruptly. He was about to say something when the doorbell rang. Behind the curtains there was a sudden chattering of people. Jorge strode to the window and peered through the drapes. 

“Damn.”

“Are they reporters?”

“Reporters and a few people of Maze.”

“We’re leaving,” Alby said. 

“Yes I think that’s for the best. Go out of the back door and over the fence into the neighbour’s garden, they are on vacation. They have access to an alleyway for cars through their back garden gate, turn right and follow that and you’ll get to the road to north Maze. I’m sure you know your way from there.”

Newt found himself yanked to his feet by Minho. He was grateful for the push as his limbs appeared to have stopped working. He barely registered the cold when they finally got out into the night air. He didn’t feel the scrape of ivy as they clambered the fence or flinch when a dog barked frantically at them as they hustled down the alleyway towards the main road. He didn’t realise his lungs were about to give out after sprinting from the lit streets of Maze all the way to the darkness of the airport. He came to himself as they stood in front of the front glass door. The first thing he felt was the palpable fear in the group. They were home. But it didn’t feel safe anymore.

Frypan scrambled out of the front door and gawped at them all.

“Where the hell have you been?”

No-one had an answer for him. It was Thomas who suddenly marched forward and directed Frypan back into the airport, “Wake everyone up. Get everyone out of bed. We need to check everywhere.”

“Thomas-”

Thomas spun towards the others, “You heard him. Janson’s been observing us. How can he when we’ve only been spotted by a handful of Grievers and people in Maze?”

“You think he’s been spying on us?”

“I think my uncle is capable of anything. And I know that he doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean.”

The one remaining light outside the front entrance cast deep angled shadows about Thomas’s tired, bloodied face. 

“Turn this place upside down. We need to find out what he’s been doing all this time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gone completely off script with canon stuff now.


	20. Stories are told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some stories are told. Except the one Thomas can't remember.  
> *I'm going to play it safe and just sat trigger warning for some implied past abuse.

Thomas was tearing apart the cafe. He checked every hole in the floor, every cracked piece of lino, any far reaching corner. He knew that something had to be here. His Uncle had been watching them. All this time he’d watched them, he’d watched _him_. Thomas stopped briefly when the banging in his head got too much. He waited for the spots of light to disappear, for his breathing to start levelling out again, then he got back to work. He couldn’t stop until he knew. 

Thomas knew that the panic on his face had scared them all. It scared him too. His mind tripped over itself so that he could barely string together his own thoughts. There was just fear. His uncle had been watching them and if he had been watching them then he had been watching Thomas. He’d known Thomas was here. Had he told Thomas’s father? 

It made his stomach drop. Not just to think that Thomas’s father no doubt knew where he was but that his Uncle Adam knew this place. His safe place, he’d thought. Something that was his own, that was untouched by his father. And Uncle Adam. 

Every time he tried to think of his Uncle all he could see was that Thanksgiving. Adam handing Thomas’s mother the gravy calmly after that heated argument. He remembered the look Adam had given Thomas’s father when he’d told him: “You’re a rat. You’ve got a rat face and you’re about as welcome in my house as a damn rat. Get out.”

But Adam hadn’t left. They’d carried on eating, Thomas continuing to stuff himself full of food for fear that it was all about to be taken away. Adam had stayed for pumpkin pie, had stayed to offer his mother a glass of port. He’d stayed and, as though the argument had never even happened, slapped his hand on his brother’s back and helped Thomas’s Dad up the stairs to bed. He’d stayed to put a blanket over his sister-in-law’s sleeping figure on the couch in the living room. And he’d stayed to stand next to Thomas at the sink, where he’d been put on washing up duty. 

And then what? Thomas didn’t remember that. But he felt heat crawling under his skin like a parasite. He felt sweat break out on his face and he felt his hands shake. He didn’t remember anything else. He didn’t. He was sure of it. 

But he knew he saw Adam once or twice after that. He must have done, because  in these memories Adam wore different clothes. Maybe he visited the house a few times after that thanksgiving. But then why didn’t Thomas remember any more of these visits?

It was Newt that had prompted him to think about it. ‘Do you not remember anything more about your uncle? Do you think he ever mentioned Maze to you, or us here at the Glade? Do you think that’s why you came here?’ 

No, Thomas had said. Shouted. He felt accused. He didn’t know anything about the Glade beforehand, he never spoke to his uncle. He only knew about him from what his father had told him. Thomas coming to Maze was a coincidence. He’d left Newt standing by their hammock, looking defeated. Thomas couldn’t bear to look at him. Did he think he’d been fed here like some sort of plant by his Uncle? He couldn’t have been. 

And yet his memories of his uncle just wouldn’t come to the surface. He tried to claw back the memories of the man who called himself Adam Janson. He remembered the jostle of his elbow at the sink when he joined him. Thomas had worried he’d drop the expensive whisky tumbler of his father’s into the sink. But that was it. Fade to black. 

No, he remembered Adam standing at the foot of the stairs. He was wearing different clothes to Thanksgiving and Thomas going down the stairs towards him. Why? When was that? He remembered Adam in a dark room. Maybe it was late at night, maybe it was simply that the drapes were closed. But why? And when?

Thomas suddenly realised he was shouting. He’d trashed the broken coffee machine behind the abandoned cafe counter. The seagulls were screaming as they poured back out of the hole and off into the fog of the airport, finally giving up on their peace. Thomas threw a bar stool after them, feeling hot tears on his cold cheeks. Why couldn’t he remember something and yet know, so clearly, that he didn’t want to remember it either? 

* * *

 

Newt handed what he had found to Alby. 

“Shit,” was all the boy had to say. He turned the metallic square over and prodded at the back. 

“It’s not got any lights on it or anything. Maybe it’s not working any more.”

“Has anyone found any others?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where was it?”

“Outside. Pointing right at where we eat.”

“Keep looking.”

Alby turned to leave but Newt caught his arm, “Alby. What happens now?”

Alby closed his eyes briefly. Newt hadn’t seen him this tired, this weighed down, since the night George had died. 

“I don’t know. But I now regret telling everyone what we knew. This will cause a panic. People will leave.”

Newt let go of his arm. “And? Is that such a bad thing? Alby, we were never going to stay here forever, were we? We’re kids. Once day we were all going to have to grow up and face it all again. This was just a stopping point.”

“No,” Alby said, forcefully, stabbing a finger at Newt hard enough to make him take a step back, “That was not how this was going to end. This was going to be a safe place, Newt. We were going to build something here. Maybe not at this airport but _somewhere_. I was going to show them how it’s really done. How you really take care of kids who don’t have anything. I was going to show other kids like us that someone cares about them because no-one deserves that, Newt. No-one deserves a life where they know if they disappear _no-one_ is going to fight for them.”

The baggage area fell quiet. Alby had taken this part of the airport for himself, telling everyone else to stay away, and now Newt knew why. He’d needed the space to think. 

“That was your plan?”

“When we started to become this group, it came to me. Kids need this. When they’ve run from home and have nothing, they need their own community. If adults can’t give it then other kids can. I was going to give them a halfway house. To learn how to survive, to make friends, to realise that there are other’s out there. Once I got past eighteen I was going to make it happen.”

“How? Alby…it’s an amazing idea but how the hell were you going to do it? You have no money, none of us do.”

“I had plans. I was going to show people how it really should be done.”

Alby squeezed the device that Newt had found in his palm, “Outside of this airport, I don’t have a single person who cares about me, Newt.”

Newt felt his eyes sting. He didn’t know whether anyone cared for him. Whether his father was looking for him. Whether his brother bothered to ask about him. Whether his mother had boarded a flight the moment she’d heard the news he had gone missing. He doubted it. But he didn’t know. He’d been too afraid to ask. But Alby knew. 

“Just because we leave this place, doesn’t mean that the people here don’t stop caring about you.”

Alby blinked down at his clenched fist. 

“Just because we move somewhere else, we split up, it doesn’t mean that we stop caring about each other, Alby.”

“I never thought we’d stay here forever. But I thought we’d have more time. I thought I could get something set up here that would work.”

“We still can. Maybe just not here. It’s not safe here anymore.”

“Then where do we go?”

“I don’t know. Some are going to want to go back home. I know Frypan is thinking about it. Maybe try to make things work again with wherever they came from. Some are going to try their luck elsewhere. But others…me included, we want to help work out what to do next. Because we’re not ready to give it up either.”

Alby shook his head, “How can they treat us like this, Newt?” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, “How can they sleep at night?”

Newt didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he and Alby had been some of the longest standing Gladers. They’d laid at night in dirty corners of the airport and been frightened of the dark. They’d cleared up trash and worked out water pipes and settled on rules. Gally had built, banging the airport into shape. Minho had run into Maze and sorted out where they could get their food from, stealing off in the dead of night. They had made themselves uncomfortable packing crate beds. They’d talked all night about where they were from and what had chased them out. And in the morning they’d stored all of the old memories away and made new ones. They’d created order when more boys came, they’d fought Grievers and made themselves safe. And now everything they had done seemed to pale into something awful under the eyes of that remote camera clenched in Alby’s fist. 

Alby dropped the camera to the floor and smashed the heel of his boot against it. 

“Let’s find them all. Then we’ll talk about what we do next.”

* * *

 

Thomas eventually came down from the cafe to see the lower half of the airport being ripped to shreds. He stepped around everyone, careful not to catch their attention, and headed out into the fog. He wanted to check the perimeter fence and make sure that there was no way someone could have snuck their way in whilst they slept. The thought made him sick, but he had to see for himself. It seemed Minho had the same idea. 

“Thomas. You look awful.”

Thomas scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes where he knew tear tracks had dried paths across the dirt, “I’m OK.”

“Well tell that to your face. Oh and tell that to Newt, too. He looks…” Minho didn’t seem to know the word for it. “You know. Just, go tell him.”

“I will,” Thomas said, but he didn’t look Minho in the eye when he said it. He put his fingers through the chain link fence and rattled it. 

“You done checking this?”

“No. Only just started walking the perimeter. You can help me.”

They started off into the fog, one hand on the fence to make sure they didn’t lose their way. The fog had turned soupy and fell almost to the ground. They couldn’t see the airport at all. 

“No wonder no-one wanted to fly a plane in here,” Minho said, stopping to look around them, “I mean you can’t even see the air traffic control tower here. What were they thinking?”

“Some people have more money than sense.”

“That’s true.”

They carried on walking. Thomas guessed they were at the furthest point of the airport, where the thick knotted grass gave way to the scrambling of foxes, when Minho stopped. He crouched down and patted a hand against the earth. Thomas thought he was about to say what they both knew, that only something as small as a fox could get through there, and certainly not a Griever. 

“I know I should have told you this before, greenie, but hey. I’m telling you now.”

“What’s that?”

“Where I’m from.”

“Oh.”

“Ok?”

Thomas nodded at him to continue. They started walking again, Minho slightly ahead of Thomas and not turning around when he spoke. 

“I grew up in New York. My parents had a lot of money, more so than your Senator Dad, I know that for sure. They owned media companies all over the States, the biggest being in the Midwest, but my Dad didn’t like living out there. And he wanted to break the East Coast market. He did pretty well too, and he had people take care of the Korean part of the company that my Grandfather had built up before the family came to America. The idea was that my Dad would have a son who could take over when he died.”

Minho looked over his shoulder. He seemed to see understanding in Thomas’s face because he said, “Yeah, I guess you know how that feels. Your dad was a businessman before he was a Senator.”

“He always told me he’d be a businessman until the day he died. That a man wasn’t worth something unless he was making money.”

“Our Dads would get along. My Mom believed the same, and she had been brought up in a really, really poor family. She feared going back. I understand it, I do but…” Minho pushed his fingers through the fence and rattled it harshly. A few seagulls went up in the air above them, screeching indignantly. The fence held strong.

“I didn’t want any of that. I wanted to do my own thing. And they didn’t understand. They had a spreadsheet for god’s sake, of all the things that I would achieve at what age. They wanted me to be part of the company from as young as possible and I wanted anything but. I decided I’d run away for a bit and scare them. I thought I’d fly to Korea to see my grandfather and my Mom’s side of the family. Maybe then they’d see that I wasn’t trying to be difficult, that I didn’t mind being part of the company, but I just didn’t want to be forced. I was looking through their files trying to find where they kept my passport and I came across my birth certificate. Well the name was right, Mino Hwan, but the birth date was wrong.”

The pair stopped at a hole in the fence. It was rusted and too small for anything other than foxes, but they stopped to check anyway. When they moved on Thomas prompted Minho. 

“Did they tell you a wrong birth date?”

“I found another birth certificate alongside it. Same name, but 11 months previous. And clipped to it was a death certificate.”

Minho stopped, his shoulders tense, “They’d had a son called Minho. He died at two days old from sepsis. They already had a son called Minho and _he’d_ died. And then they’d had me. And they told everyone - including me - that I was the original. They told me that my birthday was January, when actually I was born November that year. My older brother was born in January and they just decided to have another baby and tell the world, and me, that I was born on the original date. I’m eleven months younger than I actually think.”

“They called you Minho as well.”

“I’m a do-over. I’m my brother’s part two.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Yeah. That’s pretty much how I felt. I don’t know what possessed them to do it, but the only people who knew were immediate family. And the family lawyer. I don’t know how but he managed to cover up the fact that Minho Hwan was dead and that there was a second Minho Hwan who was eleven months younger. They kept me pretty secret until the age difference stopped being so noticeable.”

“That’s…bizarre.”

“I know. And I went to tell them that. We had a huge argument. How could they not tell me my whole life that I wasn’t who I thought I was? I was a second son, I was a do-over. I’d taken my passport when I was in the files and I told them I was going back to Korea. They rang up the bank, made sure I couldn’t buy tickets, got the police to put the airlines to Korea on alert if my name showed up. I couldn’t leave. So I decided to disappear here, in America, and try to live my own life for a change.”

They were now at the other side of the airport, level with the empty road that led to the taxi rank.

“I’m going to go back, one day. I was never going to run away for ever. They know I’m ok, because I use a dropbox to keep in touch with my sister. It’s a few towns over and I visit once a month to let her know I’m alright. She tells me what’s going on with my parents. Apparently they told everyone I did get back to Korea in the end, and I’m living with my grandfather.”

“But you’re going to go back?”

Minho looked pained, “I don’t hate them, Thomas. I hate what they did but I don’t hate _them_. They did something stupid and I want them to see it, to see why it hurt me. I want to be my own man for once, not this Minho that they had all these hopes for then lost, and wanted to build from scratch out of me.”

He laughed darkly, “Let’s jut say I’ve been having an extended identity crisis. But I know who I am now. As much as you can at this age. I’ll go back when I’m sure I can stand up their pressure to be someone else.”

“Did they try to find you?”

“Oh yeah. They tried their hardest. They got close too, but my sister managed to throw them off. I miss her the most. She wasn’t happy that I chose to do it this way but she stood by me. I owe her a lot. And for a while the Gladers were talking about making me leave, because they were getting close. Alby turned them around. And Newt. Just like they did with you. We’re all deserving of the same protection.”

They’d reached the airport. Thomas pressed a hand against the concrete of the outer wall.  

“You were lucky to have them on your side.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“They still are on your side. You’re still lucky.”

Thomas shrugged. He didn’t feel particularly lucky. And he wasn’t quite as sure that they were on his side. How could they be?

“You gonna stand outside for a while and have your own pity party?”

“What? No, I just..”

“Go and find Newt, you shank. An unhappy Newt makes for an unhappy airport. And we’re going to need everyone at the top of his game these next few days.”

Thomas made to follow Minho inside then stopped, “I’m sorry,” he said to Minho’s back. Minho turned his head to look over his shoulder. 

“For what?”

“For my Uncle.”

Minho scratched at his chin, “No-one can help who their family is. But everyone can help having a martyr complex it. Come on, we’ve got stuff to do.”

 


	21. Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WCKD has its hands in the glade.

Thomas didn’t see Newt coming. One minute he was standing in the entrance to the showers, running his hand over the wall and hoping that this definitely would not be the place to find one of his Uncle’s cameras, when Newt’s hand clamped down on his arm. 

“Newt-”

Newt yanked him towards the showers and before Thomas could protest he was hustled into the end stall and the door locked behind them. 

“Are you OK?” Newt asked, before Thomas could open his mouth. Newt raised his hands and brushed a flake of dried blood from Thomas’s temple. It was from the scuffle with Gally in the WCKD detention room, which felt like years ago. Newt’s fingers skittered down the side of his face, tracing the dust and dirt. They went down the side of his neck, noting the bruise from the fight. Down the front of his t-shirt, drawing the length of his sternum, feeling the trembling down his sides as his ribs shook with each breath. 

“I’m fine, Newt.”

They hadn’t had a chance to be alone for so long. It was only when Thomas saw the look on Newt’s face that he saw the reflection of his own feelings about that. 

“Newt, I’m OK.” Thomas cupped Newt’s face and kissed him softly, pressing his thumbs gently against his cheekbones. 

“Are _you_ ok?”

“I’m fine Tommy.”

 He chased Thomas’s lips for another kiss. 

“I’m OK. But I don’t know what happens now.” 

Thomas nodded. He wrapped his arms around Newt’s shoulders and squeezed him close. It was all he could think to do. Someone banged their way into the bathroom. There was a long pause then Frypan’s voice called, “No, they’re not in here.”

They knew he would have seen the last stall was closed. Thomas made a note to thank Frypan later. 

“How many devices have they found?” Thomas asked into Newt’s hair. 

“Four or five that I’ve heard of.” 

“This is messed up.”

He felt Newt’s arms tighten around him, the bones of his forearms digging into his spine. It didn’t stick out so much these days. He was starting to put on all of the weight his father had scraped off his bones. 

 “Your Uncle is a psycho.”

“I’ve been thinking that since I was four and he told me Santa was a demon who ate naughty kids.”

They stayed hidden away in the showers for as long as they could without raising suspicious. When they rejoined the others the cameras that had been found were laid out in a long line, and all but two were smashed. For evidence, Alby had said, though no-one gave any indication what they could do with such evidence. Some remained to brood over the miserable pile, whilst others disappeared to have their own discussions. Discussions about leaving, whether they should, when and where.

It was sunset by the time the group drifted back together, as they had done countless nights before, into the concrete space looking out over the runway. Frypan had been keeping the fire going all day, because that had always been in his self-appointed duty that he took very seriously, and the seats and crates were assembled in their usual positions. Comfortable, blanket-wrapped groups formed around the edge of the fire. 

Thomas and Newt found themselves joining at around the same time. Minho had quietly reserved them a spot, and he shifted over silently when they appeared. Thomas sniffed, a mouthwatering aroma drifting out of the fire where Frypan was slapping and shaking various pots and pans on their spits. 

Ben handed Newt one of their chipped bowls, topped with a flat bread. 

“My god, Frypan, is that _curry_?”

“We got a care package from Jorge. It had spices and everything, and look…” Frypan slapped down a wide baking tray stuffed with even more naan breads, “All the trimmings. Some courier brought it up. He looked terrified, but he left it for us. That Jorge guy is good people.”

The boys tucked in immediately, and slowly as the heat of the fire and the curry warmed them through the chatter started to rise. Soon their eating area was the same clattering noisy hub it had been before. The boys ribbed each other, fought over portion sizes, dragged their blankets over their knees and flicked burnt bits of naan at each other’s heads. Once the food was done Newt slid his arm around Thomas’s waist and enjoyed the closeness, artfully hidden from the teasing eyes of the other boys. Thomas gave him a quiet kiss on his ear and slid his hand to the inside of his knee, squeezing gently.

“Feels almost like normal,” Newt said, low and soft with his face turned to Thomas’s neck. 

“If only.”

A roar of laughter came up from somewhere across the fire and Newt took advantage of the noise, “It’ll be fine, Tommy. I promise.”

Thomas ducked his head and softly touched a line of kisses across Newt’s brow and nose. 

“Guys! Guys!”

“Chuck, what’s wrong?”

“There’s someone in the airport.”

The boys looked up to see that Chuck jigging from spot to spot, his arm extended back into the dark airport body.  

“A person. A man, he’s just wandering around the airport. I don’t know who he is.”

Minho was up and through the doors before everyone else could get it together and move. Newt’s stiff knee slowed him down, and by the time he reached the group they had located the intruder. He had been funnelled back towards the doors, shuffling backwards but not daring to turn his back on them yet. He was a tall, gangly man in his 40s with a shock of black hair  swept back from his expansive forehead, and he had a high powered camera tucked into one hand. The grip on it was tense, and the lens was pointed right at the boys. 

The boys protected the rest of the airport in a loose semi circle, Chuck dancing behind the bristling line of bodies and wringing his hands with anxiety. Newt gestured for him to calm down and pushed his shoulders between Minho and Ben. Gally had acquired a baseball bat, and Newt recognised it as the one he used to chase seagulls away from the food, smash open food cans, or just to make a point. Gally swung the baseball bat in his hand towards their intruder, “Who the hell are you?”

“Hi. I’m sorry, I knocked but…wow you do really live in this airport don’t you? You use the space well, I see. Almost homey.”

Their stoney silence echoed back at him, and chipped away at the bravado that had got him this far. 

“Sorry. My name’s Justin. I’m a journalist, I wondered if you’d want to tell me your story.”

Newt heard the scrape of wood on the tiles as Frypan and Ben retrieved two baseball bats that he didn’t even know they had. The man took a big step back. 

“I just wanted to tell your side of things. I’m trying to help.”

“Did we ask for your help?”

“Look, why don’t we just sit down and-”

“Get the hell out of here!” Winston shouted, hurling an old tin can in his general direction. It missed Justin by an inch and instead rattled off the glass door, but the reporter didn’t take off. The flash of his camera took them by surprise. There was a long moment when they stood gawping and stunned, the flashing lights behind their eyelids blurring their vision completely. Either it cleared for Gally first or he was happy to run toward violence totally blind, but he was off after the journalist before the other boys he could react. By the time Thomas and Newt had caught up with him he was swinging the bat in a dangerous arc towards the reporter’s midsection. The reporter held his hands up, stammering but standing his ground, “Please, just listen to me, I just want to tell your story.”

“Gally, stop!” 

The sheer volume of  Newt’s shout made everyone stop in their tracks. He was breathing heavily, the whites of his eyes just visible and his dirty blonde mop of hair a speck of light in the all consuming darkness outside the airport. 

Gally stood frozen, staring back at Newt with his face tight and angry. The man opened his mouth to speak again but Newt’s expression made him stop, “Get out of here.”

Gally swung the bat towards the man but with restraint, stopping just before the guy’s kneecaps. “You heard him.”

“Wait. How did you get here? Where did you hear about us?” Frypan interrupted, jabbing his own bat in the journalist’s direction. 

  “Look, I’m from Kentville’s local paper. Our intern saw you guys talked about on Twitter and I have family here so I thought I’d head down and see if I could talk to you all.”

“Twitter? Why the hell are we on twitter?”

Gally jabbed the man in the chest with his bat, “Give us your phone.”

“What?”

“Give us your phone and show us what you mean.”

Justin scrabbled in his pocket and dug out an iPhone. He stabbed at the screen nervously, leaning back away from Gally as far as he could, and finally produced a Twitter profile. 

“Here. The two tweets at the top.”

Frypan snatched the phone and turned it over in his hands, “Nice model. How about we take his phone and pawn it for some cash?

“How about we just read the bloody tweet,” Newt said, taking over from Frypan. He read out loud, “‘Jesus this is disgusting. Load of homeless kids living at the airport being hunted by a security company. This is daughter of their lawyer.’ Then there’s a picture.”

“What’s the picture? Of us?”

“It’s Brenda’s Facebook page.”

Newt had to wrestle to keep the phone in his grip as every boy launched at with their hands, “Wait, stop, let me look at it.”

“It is! It’s Brenda’s!”

“Get off, let me read it. Here, it says: “God my Dad’s got a weird new case. Load of boys have been living up at abandoned airport in town and turns out a local security company has been experimenting on them. What a bunch of sickos.”

Newt finally let the grip on his phone go and it was Gally who won the next chance to read off the screen, “She even posted a photo with it. Look, it’s us, you can see Minho, and Ben and Newt. Who the hell does she think she is?”

“How did this get on twitter? It’s her Facebook post.”

Justin nervously piped up, “All of her Facebook friends started sharing it. It went viral, and then people started posting and sharing it on Twitter. I don’t think your friend meant for it to go this far.”

“She’s not our friend,” Gally growled. He slammed Justin’s phone into his chest, “Now get lost. We don’t want to talk to you.”

He finally took the hint and turned to run. The last they saw him before he was swallowed into the darkness was the soles of his loafers as he jogged as fast as he could back towards town. 

“That won’t be the last of them.”

“So people want to come up and _photograph_ us now?”

“Dammit,” Gally bellowed, “Brenda just told everyone where to find us! What was she doing?”

“She didn’t mean to,” Thomas said, “It was a mistake.”

“Too right it was a mistake,” Gally stabbed a finger against Thomas’s chest, knocking him back an inch, “Don’t defend her.”

“What does it matter whether we defend her or not, the damage is done. Do something about it.” Thomas was now toe to toe with Gally, almost touching noses. 

“Oh I am. Once again _you_ caused this problem Thomas, _I’m_ going to sort it.”

Newt snatched at Gally’s shoulder but he was shrugged off. Gally turned to the other boys and pointed back towards the airport, “Ben, Winston, Frypan, get everyone down here. We’re going to make a barrier. No-one else is getting this close to the airport.”

Newt stood limply to one side and watched as Gally rustled up what he said would be the ‘first watch’. He didn’t have the energy to argue, or even a good enough reason. Ridiculous as it might have looked, they maybe did some extra protection. Pictures of themselves all over the internet were the last thing any of them needed, and if this was now a story that people wanted to hear about…perhaps this would help. 

Newt eventually moved out of their way to watch as their frenzied activity causing their breath to fog in the chilly air and blur their faces. It was almost midnight when he decided to give up and go back to the airport, when he felt his foot hit something. He peered down through the dark and recognised the oblong object nestling against his boot. Without saying anything he pocketed it quickly and left Gally and his crew to it. 

* * *

 

The barrier wasn’t much, and difficult to see in the darkness, but it was there. It was mostly made up of luggage carts and bits of broken wooden crates. It occupied the width of the entrance road. If anyone had wire cutters they could get through the airport fence at the lefthand side, but they hoped no journalist was that desperate for a story. Gally demanded it be patrolled, and with the fright and shock there weren’t many that argued with him. Newt tried to get some of them to hang back and get some rest but it was a hard task. He went to bed on his own, with only a few others around him deciding to do the same. Minho lay quiet and still, but noticeably awake. Winston nervously jigged his foot that hung off the hammock and made his whole bed shake. Chuck came to bed after a while visibly upset and curled in a ball in his hammock with the blankets over his head. Newt nodded off sometime just before dawn, then woke to the sound of chattering outside as the boys made an early breakfast. Thomas was asleep next to him, one hand loosely resting on his hip. He smelt like the campfire and the foggy night air.  

“Do you think our families will have seen us?”

Ben’s voice. Newt didn’t open his eyes and stayed still, listening for the response. 

“I don’t know.” It was Minho, the sound coming from Newt’s right, which meant he was still in his hammock. 

“I hope not.”

“No. Me either. If someone from my family sees me…”

“You know Winston says he wants to leave.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s got some cousins in New Orleans, he wants to go there. But what are we supposed to do if we don’t have anywhere to go?”

Minho didn’t have an answer. Newt waited for them to get up and go to see about breakfast before sitting up as best as he could in the hammock. Thomas stayed still, his face slack in the midsts of sleep. Newt pulled the cover up over Thomas’s shoulder, making sure the draught from the cracks in the walls and windows stayed off his sleeping form. He crept to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, curling his bare toes against the freezing cold floor. 

“You ok?”

Newt jumped in fright, banging his hip against the sinks as he spun around. 

“Jesus Gally. Give a guy some warning.”

Gally didn’t apologise but he did give a little smile, “Not like you to sleep in.”

“I didn’t really sleep at all to be honest.” He turned back to the sink and started to brush his teeth. They were almost out of toothpaste. He didn’t know how they were going to start replenishing their stocks of anything at the moment. If Jorge could keep delivering boxes of useful things, it would be a godsend. 

“You know with winter coming so early this year and all of this going on, I forgot what the date was.”

Newt blinked back at him with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, confused. 

“Oh. Me too.”

“Today’s December 8th. Which means it’s-”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea.”

Newt spat out his toothpaste, “Well, thanks for reminding me.”

Gally scratched at the back of his neck, “I actually didn’t know the date until I saw it on that journalist’s phone last night. I didn’t really remember until way after that. I was going to tell Thomas, but I couldn’t find him.”

“He wasn’t with you last night? Then where was he?”

“I don’t know. But we’re kinda getting away from what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Gally pulled out a small wooden object from his pocket. He turned it over in his hands a few times then passed it over. 

“Here. Happy birthday.”

Newt stared down at the little gift deposited in his open palms. The wood was mostly dark but shot through with curls of light caramel whirls. It was shaped like an old fashioned key: a loop at one end with a long straight body, ending in two chunky teeth at the other. The edges were serrated like an actual lock, the detail making it seem lifelike except for its composition. 

“Did you make this?”

“I whittled it, yeah.”

“Since last night?”

“No, I was working on it already, but then…well, I could spare it. I thought you’d like it.”

Newt swept his fingers along the ridges and lifted it to the light. 

“It’s so good. It looks like it could actually open something. Thank you, Gally.”

Gally shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it, Newt. You do all this stuff for us-”

“If someone else calls me a bloody mother hen…”

“Shut up.” Gally tried to twist the smile off his face, “Let me be nice for once.”

“You? Nice?”

“I try my best now and then.”

The door opened and Winston brushed past with his towel in his hand. 

“What are you two doing?”

“Nothing, we’ll give you some space.”

Newt and Gally perched themselves on pallets outside and helped themselves to some hot coffee. 

“Where did we get coffee?”

“In that box Jorge sent us,” Chuck said, lifting up the last of the pans that needed cleaning. When he clanged off to their water tank, the two were on their own. 

“Thanks again, Gally, for my present.”

“No problem. You going to tell anyone else it’s your birthday?”

Newt normally kept the whole day quiet, choosing only to acknowledge his birthday when someone remembered. Alby had it memorised, but knew that Newt didn’t appreciate the fuss. He might have his head too full of other things to remember it this year. 

“I’d rather not.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

Newt shrugged, “I guess. Yeah, I will.”

Newt swallowed a mouthful and pulled a face. He still wasn’t great at coping with coffee. Tea was more his thing: in that sense he was happy to be quintessentially British. 

“Speaking of boyfriends. How are you and Ben?”

“Don’t go there, Newt,” Gally said, threatening but friendly all at the same time, in that way Gally was pretty good at. 

“What are you scared of?”

Gally scowled and blew a lot of air through his nose. By the time he was finished huffing Newt had nearly finished his coffee. 

“Gally, it’s going to be fine. I’ve known Ben for as long as you have. I’ve never seen anything in him that would suggest he’d be cruel. Even if he didn’t feel the same way he’d still be your friend.”

“It’s not even _that_ that worries me so much.” Gally scrubbed at his face with his hands, “It’s…I mean, if my Dad knew, he’d kill me. It’s not something I ever thought would…you know, I didn’t know that I was…”

“You didn’t know you might like boys? What, even after we…”

“No offence Newt, but I didn’t even think about that back then. You were you. It was just nice.”

“Hard not to take offence at that, but thank you.”

Newt let himself laugh, making sure that Gally knew no offence had indeed been taken. 

“None of this was exactly unsurprising for me either. Whether it was you, or Thomas. But I’ve just decided there’s no point hurting my brain trying to figure it out.  Sometimes there is nothing to figure out, it is what it is. If you like Ben, you like Ben. Leave it at that.”

Gally looked down at the floor, “Right.”

“Let’s face it, we’ve got a lot to do deal with here. Wouldn’t you rather go through it all with Ben knowing you feel and you accepting how you feel yourself?”

“What if he’s just decided to give up on me? And I’ve blown my chance.”

“I see the way Ben looks at you. He’s waiting patiently, Gally. He will for as long as you need. But after a while it starts to slide from ‘Gally self preservation’ into ‘Ben cruelty’ territory. And you know how much we all love Ben. We’ll have to beat you up.”

“I’d like to see you try you skinny Brit.”

Gally tossed the dregs of his coffee out of his mug and pushed himself off the pallet.  He disappeared, off to add his mug to Chuck’s cleaning pile. Newt threw the last of his coffee out too. Either he just broke up or moved together a brand new couple in the Glade. He decided to give it two days and then if there was no improvement he was going to have to take drastic measures like the ones that got him and Thomas together: alcohol and Minho. 


	22. Dissent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships begin to break down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once in my life I actually have chapter plans! This whole thing is sketched out to the very end now and it'll be done soon, I promise! I am aiming for Christmas to have it all wrapped up. Until then, let the angst continue!!

Winston shook Newt awake from a nap. It wasn’t like him to sleep during the day, but he was wrung out by the past few days - weeks even - and both his stomach and knee were killing him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s some people down by the barrier. Gally’s not letting them through, he told me to come and get you.”

“People?”

Winston didn’t know anything more. Newt shoved his feet into a pair of boots and looked around for Thomas and Minho, but the airport was empty. He staggered out into the light, trying his best to smooth down his hair, and finally found the rest of the boys. Frypan scowled in his direction, “Look what Brenda’s little photo gave us.”

No-one else went to follow Newt as he walked down towards the barrier. The fog had lifted, leaving Maze a rare cold and clear morning. Seagulls keened overhead, looking for a meal and sending their shadows scattering around the concrete road ahead of him. The sun was so bright that Newt had to squint through it to pick out four shapes down by the barrier. Minho noticed him first. 

“Newt, this is messed up.”

“What?”

Minho pointed down the hill towards a group of 5 or 6 people standing around 20 metres from their barrier. 

“Down there are three reporters and two relatives.”

“Whose?”

“One said they’re looking for Siggy.”

“Frypan,” Newt said, looking back over his shoulder at the airport, “His Mum or his Dad?”

“Dad. And then Chuck’s sister.”

Newt glanced across at Thomas. He looked tired and tense, but the relative proximity to Gally at least indicated there hadn’t been another row. 

“Where’s Alby?”

“No-one knows, he’s disappeared.”

Newt suddenly felt the cold of the day clamp against his skin. He folded his arms and tried to rub some warmth back into them, “Well what can we do? If they want to see Chuck and Frypan we can’t stop them”

“Frypan doesn’t want to see his Dad. Chuck wants Alby’s permission or some shit,” Gally kicked at a bit of a wooden support beam that had fallen from the barrier, “And we can stop them if we need to.”

“What about the reporters?”

“We told them to stay away or we’d pelt them. They seemed to believe us.”

Ben held up a large rock he’d been holding then tossed it to the side, “We told them we didn’t want to talk to them.”

“They aren’t going to just keep politely waiting where we tell them to. We can see them taking photos with their cameras.”

Newt felt material brush up against him. It was Thomas, pushing a thin zip up hoody against his shoulder. It was the one he’d arrived in at the Glade, a time that seemed years in the past already. Newt slipped it on wordlessly, pleased that Thomas had layered up and wasn’t going to get cold himself. 

“What do you think, Newt?”

Newt knew why they’d asked him to come down. They all saw him as Alby’s deputy, and with Alby conspicuously absent it was his responsibility. That didn’t mean that he didn’t know what the hell to suggest. He peered back down at the little group in the distance. The reporters were talking amongst themselves, occasionally looking down at their phones. Chuck’s sister and Frypan’s Dad weren’t speaking but staring intently up at them, taking it in turns to pace around in circles. 

“Ok, I’m going to go and talk to them. You all stay here. Thomas, go and ask Chuck if he wants to see his sister. If he says yes bring him down to us. Check with Frypan. If he says no then he stays where he is.”

Thomas gave the others a quick glance and headed off to do as he was told. Newt vaulted the barrier. 

“Be careful, Newt.”

“I’ve avoided the Grievers for years, I can handle this. Just stay there and keep everyone away.”

The reporters hung back slightly when Newt arrived, but Chuck’s sister was on him instantly, a mixture of furious and desperate. 

“Is my brother there? Why can’t he come out and see me? Why won’t you let him?”

She was short and looked tired, though her face was clearly more used to a friendly, open smile. She was much older than Chuck, probably by at least 10 or 15 years. Her hair was dyed red and poker straight, and in her hand she held her mobile phone, some car keys and a purse. Hanging from the car keys was a keychain, a small square with a photo of a family pressed against the plastic covering. 

“Hi. You’re Chuck’s sister, aren’t you?”

She nodded. 

“My name’s Newt.”

He held out his hand. She looked back and forth from his hand to his face for a moment, then pushed all of the things into one hand and shook it. 

“Tracy.” 

Before she spoke again Newt said, “We’re not keeping him from doing anything. I’ve asked if he wants to come down and see you.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Thomas and Chuck hopping the barrier. 

“Here he is.”

Tracy enveloped her brother in a huge hug, her keys jangling against his back as she squeezed him tight. She started to cry, little gasping sobs, and through it Newt could hear Chuck repeating with his own tears, “I told you I was ok, I told you I was ok, I told you.”

Minho had informed a few of the other boys about his dropbox mechanic with his own sister. Newt was vaguely aware that Chuck had taken up the idea, but their rule of no questions meant that he had never asked who Chuck was trying to contact. All he knew was that Minho helped him set it up and no doubt helped him to get the messages through as well. Minho was that kind of guy. 

Thomas looked away from the reunion, uncomfortable or something else Newt couldn’t identify, then looked Frypan’s father up and down. He was waiting with his arms crossed a few feet away, but he was starting to fidget and glower. Thomas shook his head lightly when Newt caught his eye. 

Frypan didn’t want to see his Dad. Newt had no idea why, having never heard Frypan’s story, and it wasn’t his place to argue. 

“Where’s Siggy?” the man eventually snapped. He was over six feet tall and dressed like any smart professional on a casual Saturday - cardigan, nice watch, expensive jeans.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Thomas said, looking as wary of Frypan’s father as Newt felt. 

“And who the hell are you to tell me I can’t see my son?”

“How did you even know he was here?” Newt asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

“My wife saw his picture online. I was near here on business and I came over right away. What kind of place is this? Why has my son been here and not home for the last year?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

Tracy pulled away from Chuck and cleared tears from her face, “I saw Chuck online too. Someone had taken a photo of this airport and then you guys inside and a story about how you were all living here.” She sniffed and wiped at some tears on Chuck’s face, “I didn’t know you were so close to home.”

The journalist that had broken into the airport had been busy then. 

“This doesn’t explain why I don’t get to see my son.”

“He has to want to see you.”

“And what if I just walk up there and get him myself?”

Thomas jerked a thumb towards the airport, “Then we can’t guarantee those guys up there won’t try to stop you.”

“You go up there right now and tell Siggy I want to see him.”

Newt stepped forward towards the finger that the man was stabbing in his direction, “Don’t tell me what to do. It’s not my fault he doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

The man looked ready to do something - shout, lash out, push Newt out of his way, but he seemed to remember just in time that there was a small crowd of reporters just behind him. He visibly wrestled his anger under control and retracted his accusatory finger. 

“Fine.”

He turned on his heel and left. Newt felt the fist around his chest squeeze even tighter and he let out a long breath. 

“Newt? Can I hang out with Tracy for a bit?”

Newt smiled, “Chuck this isn’t prison. You can do what you want. It’s just…we’ll worry about you if we don’t know when you’ll be back.”

“I promise I’ll back before it’s dark. Is that Ok? Tracy?”

She nodded, her tightly pressed lips suggesting she had plenty to say on the matter that she was swallowing for the sake of her brother. She squeezed his arm, “We’ll go into town and get something to eat. I’ll bring you back up here around five. How does that sound?”

The reporters finally lost their patience and tried to quiz Chuck and Tracy as they turned away from the airport, but Tracy had some choice words on where they could stick their questions and they gave up. Instead they turned on the boys left behind.

“Can we get your names? We might be able to reunite you with your families.”

“How long have you boys been here? How long have WCKD been harassing you?”

“Have you had any contact with charities or agencies? Has anyone been helping you live here?”

Newt opened his mouth to speak but Thomas flipped the three of them the bird and snagged Newt’s arm. 

“Come on, we need to head back.”

Newt allowed himself to be lead off with Thomas’s arm around his shoulders. 

“What if they follow us?”

“What, with those three up there armed and dangerous? I don’t think so.”

“Well handled, by the way.”

Thomas smirked, “One useful thing my Dad taught me. Don’t give the media anything and they can’t twist your words.”

Gally swapped around the boys on guard duty at the barrier, but as the sun fell the journalists were soon gone. The cold in the air drove them back to their hotel rooms and the boys back into the airport. Gally occasionally stalked out into the dark to check the perimeter, but they felt far away from Maze as the freezing fog settled back in. Anyone who wanted to make their way through that and into the airport was foolhardy. 

“Alby?”

The boys stopped in their tracks at the sight of the oldest boy standing alone in the middle of the echoing space around where the check in desks once operated. A couple of card games were spread out along the desks and Chuck had strung up some washing to dry between the long rows. Alby was staring down at one of the paused card games, his big arms folded over his chest. 

“Alby, where have you been?"

“There were more journalists. And Chuck’s sister came, and Frypan’s Dad. Where have you been all day?”

Alby didn’t look up at them when he talked, “This is slipping away from me. Everything.”

“From all of us, Alby,” Minho said, surprisingly softly, “But we’re ok.”

Alby shook his head in a harsh jerk, the movement painful and aggressive, “No.”

He pointed towards a pile slumped against a check in desk, “No we’re not. Because if we're ok then what are these?”

Newt tried to peer through the dark at what he was pointing at. “What, Alby?”

“They’re ours.” 

The group turned to Jeff, who had started to shuffling over to where Alby was pointing. Once he picked something up it was clear what it was: a pile of three knapsacks and some blankets. He held the bag straps in his hands and chewed on his lip, “We’re leaving. Clint, Zart and I.”

He threw the bag onto his back, “We were going to go this afternoon, but you guys looked like you needed help.”

Clint and Zart grabbed their own bags and balled the blankets into their arms. 

“But…you can’t leave.”

“We have to. We don’t want to, but we have to. Look, we’ve got situations that we don’t want to go back to. What else can we do? Maybe we can come back, if everything sorts itself out.”

The rest of the boys all started talking at once, the noise of them all rising. 

The shove took Newt by surprise, even more so when he registered it was Alby who had done it. It knocked him back a few steps and he had to quickly shift his weight from his bad knee to his good, the movement knocking him back further. Minho caught his elbow as he righted himself. 

“I warned you. I warned you, Newt, and you didn’t listen.”

One minute Thomas was by Newt’s side, the next he was in Alby’s space, right in his face and shouting. 

“You warned him? What about? What has this got to do with Newt?”

“He’s the one that kept you in here, didn’t he? You, Thomas, who thinks he knows everything.”

“You told me I was no different to anyone else here-”

“I was _wrong._ You’re trouble Thomas, and it’s because you don’t give a shit. I see the way you look at us all, like we’re stupid for wanting to have our own home somewhere else.”

“You’re crazy, Alby.”

“This was supposed to be our safe place. It was going to be a place anyone could come if they needed help and since you arrived, it’s just fallen apart.”

“A safe place?! It’s an airport Alby, we’re homeless and living in an airport. You think this is a _good_ life? It’s better than where we come from but this shouldn’t have to be our lives.”

“I should have just let Gally toss you out. Still think we should. You’re a fast runner Thomas, how about we see how fast you can run away before your psycho uncle catches you?” 

Newt went for Thomas’s arm but it wasn’t enough to stop him surging forward. 

“Tommy, don’t.”

“Newt let me go.”

“No, stop.” Newt pulled, snatching Thomas back as best he could, “Stop, Tommy!”

It wasn’t clear who threw the first punch but Newt heard Gally shout Alby’s name in fury as Thomas and Alby slammed into one another, fists flying. Newt caught a snapshot of the others stood around them with their mouths in a stunned silence, but life came back to his limbs with a jolt. He and Minho scrabbled as best as they could to get Alby and Thomas apart, tearing at clothes and limbs to get some purchase on them. Ben almost took an elbow to the face when he got involved, and it was only thanks to his brute strength that Alby was dragged backwards a few feet. The distance allowed Gally and Newt to get in between them, and for Minho to pull back Thomas’s arms. 

“Stop, stop it!” Newt roared, arms out as they both tried their best to get back to each other. 

Gally planted his hands in the centre of Alby’s chest, using his own bulk to keep his old friend back. “Alby calm down!” 

“You don’t have a right to say that about this place,” Alby was shouting, doing his best to get free even as Ben and Gally pushed and pulled him further away. “What do you know?!”

Thomas’s voice was raw and loud in Newt’s ear, “What’s your problem Alby?”

Newt pushed desperately at Thomas’s chest, trying his best to keep him away as Minho grappled with his arms. He told him to stop, fisted his hands in his shirt and tried to get in front of his face, “Thomas shut up, leave it!”

“This doesn’t mean anything to you! It means nothin’ to you and you’ve ruined it all!”

Ben was able to finally twist Alby around in the opposite direction and give him a shove. Gally held out his hands and faced Alby like a wild animal out of his pen, Ben guarding him on his other side. 

“Cool it Alby, come on man.”

Thomas yanked an arm out of Minho’s grip but Newt caught it and was able to leverage him back a few steps, the movement forcing him off balance. He turned to look down at where Newt was holding him and the look his boyfriend gave him finally stilled him. 

“Stop, Tommy, stop.”

Thomas’s lungs were billowing under his shirt and his expression struck through with a sort of pure anger that Newt hadn’t seen before. 

“This is stupid!” Gally snarled at them both, “What the hell are you arguing about?”

“You did the exact same thing Gally, weeks ago, you said he wasn’t one of us.”

“And you showed me I was wrong. And yeah, things have got _bad,_ but that’s not his fault. There were cameras here we didn’t know about Alby, filming everything we did. If it weren’t for Thomas we wouldn’t even know. We may never have found out until WCKD had what they wanted from us.”

“I can’t believe you of all people are defending him.”

Alby called Gally something unrepeatable and spat on the floor at his feet. He turned to the crescent-fallen trio with their bags, “Fine. Leave. See if I care. Everything we built has gone anyway.”

“Alby-”

“No Jeff, leave. It’ll be better that way.”

Alby stalked away, the echoes of his boots ringing in their ears. Thomas wiped the back of his hand against his mouth where his lip was cut. 

“He’s gone crazy,” Ben said, staring after Alby, “He’s never behaved like that before.”

He had. Once. Only Minho and Newt it, but he had. Newt looked over at Minho and the boy shrugged his shoulders in response, “I’ll give him five. Then I’ll go and talk to him.”

Newt ran a hand through his hair and turned to the three with their bags, “Guys look, it’s getting dark outside. Don’t go anywhere just yet. If you still want to go in the morning no-one is going to stop you. But none of us want you to set off in the dark and the cold.”

They all exchanged a glance, then quietly acquiesced. 

“Why? Where are you going?”

Chuck had appeared in the check-in area, bringing in the smell of the fog with him. 

“What happened?”

He saw Thomas’s bleeding face and balked, “Was there a fight?”

“Alby lost his shit.” Gally sucked his teeth and shook his head, “And Thomas didn’t exactly help.”

“Get lost Gally,” Thomas said with no heat. 

“Come on, not you two as well.”

It was only then that Newt realised Jorge and Teresa were also inside the airport. Chuck nodded a head back to them, “I met them when my sister dropped me off. They brought some more supplies.”

Teresa smiled and blithely marched towards the outside door with the box in her arms, “You guys still eating outside? Do you ever move inside? You must freeze to death out there. Anyway, we brought some more stuff up, just a few things. Where shall I put it?”

It was a blatant tactic to break the tension, but it worked. Winston offered to help her with the box and Ben hustled Jeff and Chuck away to get the fire started. 

Jorge gave the remaining group one of his mega-watt smiles. 

“Nice to see you all again. Sorry, though. I feel like I’ve come at a bad time.”

Minho shook his head, “No, it’s fine. You guys talk. I’m going to go and find Alby.”

Newt watched him leave, guilt a heavy weight in his stomach, then gestured for Jorge to follow him out to the eating area. The fire was just about going but the chill drove them all to keep moving about its fringes, trying as best they could to generate some warmth. 

“I know this is a tense time for you all. I know some journalists have made your lives harder.”

“Your daughter didn’t exactly help either,” Gally snapped. Teresa looked up from where she was helping Frypan unpack the box, but Newt couldn’t read the expression on her face.

“Yes. Brenda is sorry, boys. She feels genuinely awful. She said she just didn’t think, and certainly didn’t expect it to go anywhere but to her friends. Believe me, she knows the error of her ways.”

“Our faces are out there now though. None of us want to be found, why do you think we’re here? And then some journalist broke in last night and took pictures of everything, including us.”

“That was how my sister saw me,” Chuck chimed in. 

“Yes, I met Chuck’s sister just outside the airport. She is staying at an inn in town. I understand someone’s father was here too?”

“Mine,” Frypan said, now tense. He threw a packet of rice into one of his storage boxes and shook his head, “I don’t want to see him.”

“I know this is hard, but we have to try to work out where we go from here. We need to build a case against WCKD to find out the extent of what’s happened here.”

“We have cameras. Ones they’ve used to film us. We can show you those, most of them are in tact.”

Jorge’s eyes softened at that. He nodded. 

“Thank you. I will take those.” 

“What about us at the airport? We want to stay here.”

Everyone automatically looked at the boys who had been about to leave, but none of them looked back. 

“For now, that’s entirely possible. But the further we get into this…well, I can’t promise. If the owners of the airport don’t want you to be here then they’d be legally able to clear you out. You’re squatting, after all, and I can imagine they’ve got lawyers that are able to remove you. But it’ll take time. We have time boys, I promise.”

“Time to do what, though? Some of us are running from things we can’t go back to. Others just want to have some privacy. How can we get that now journalists are coming in?”

“I saw your barrier out there,” Jorge gave a wry smile, “You’ve not been arming yourselves have you?”

Gally grunted, “I have a baseball bat and I’m good at making threats. No-one would dare.”

“They might. Journalists want the story because they can smell blood for WCKD. They want the exclusive scoop that will bring a huge corporation, and possibly a Senator, down.” Jorge cut his eyes to Thomas who was staring into the fire, as though not a part of the conversation at all.

“Thomas. I’ve had your father on the phone. He claims he had no idea what your Uncle was doing and he’s assembling his lawyers as we speak. He wants you home.”

The only indication that Thomas had heard him was a twitch around his mouth. 

“I’ve told him you need to remain where you’re safe, and for the moment that’s here. Once his lawyers are involved I can’t say what will happen, so we need to move fast. As well as making the case against them we need to secure your rights to protection from the media, from any difficult home situations coming to find you, and from being removed from what is your home right now.”

Jorge scratched at the stubble on his chin. He wore it well, the light beard giving him some gravitas, but today is also made him look tired. 

“So for starters I think I need to know what might be coming your way. Parents, families, that sort of thing. If any of you are running from the law I need to know. I don’t care what you did, I just need to know how I best protect you all.”

“Why are you doing any of this?” Ben interrupted. 

“He’s a human rights lawyer. It’s what he does,” Teresa said, still crouching by the boxes. 

“Terea’s right. This is my job, boys, and this is my hometown. I’ll be damned if I let something so disturbing go unpunished in my home time.”

“And Dad’s dealt with WCKD before, haven’t you Dad?”

“Once or twice. They aren’t easy to pin down. But this time I believe we have a strong case.”

He pulled out his iPhone and tapped away at the screen, “I have an old college friend who is now an editor at a major news outlet. She’s been looking into WCKD for years, and she’s agreed to help me out. She’s also going to try to impress upon any of the colleagues she knows who might want to pick up your story that you are minors, and your privacy is important. I can’t promise that they’ll all follow, but she’s an influential woman. It will help. Until then, stay vigilant.”

He tucked his phone away again and laughed, “Or I could try to convince you all to stay with my family in Maze? But I get the feeling that might be a road to nowhere.”

“We’re staying here. This is our home.”

Jorge nodded, “I understand. But be careful. And Gally, make sure that baseball bat doesn’t mean the heads of any reporters. I can’t help you if something like that happens.”

Gally nodded reluctantly. Theresa stood up from her unpacking and rubbed at her arms, “God it’s cold. We brought you some more blankets but you could do with heaters.”

“No electricity.”

“Oil ones would work. I can get you some.”

“How?”

She flashed a smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear and started to clean up the empty boxes, “I’m resourceful.”

“The local high school has taken quite a shine to your position,” Jorge filled in, “Theresa has organised a drive to bring together some things you might need.”

“Oh great, now we’re Maze High School’s charity case?”

“Better than them trying to come up here and beat the shit out of us,” Frypan reminded him. 

Jorge’s phone rang and he picked it up on the second ring. 

“Brenda? Is everything ok?”

There was a long pause that made the whole group tense. When he put the phone down Jorge looked right at Newt. 

“Brenda says a man has turned up at the house looking for you, Newt. He was given my address by someone. He says he’s your father.”

 


	23. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt reunites with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only thank you and beg forgiveness for your endless patience, you lovely, lovely people.

Newt grabbed his jumper and pulled it over the rat’s nest that was his hair. He desperately needed a hair cut, but Jeff was the only one of the boys he trusted to go near him with scissors. The thought of Jeff sent a squeeze of pain through his chest because he, Zart and Clint had left that morning. There were barely-contained tears and not a lot said, because no-one really knew what to say. The trio promised to keep in touch as best they could, keep an eye on the news, and come back if things settled. Alby’s fury only added to the sombre mood; no-one but Minho had heard or seen him since the explosive fight with Thomas, but his anger was palpable in the dark corners of the airport. He hadn’t even come to sleep in his hammock, and Newt knew that because he had laid awake the whole night. A whole night of staring into the darkness turning his impending meeting with his father over and over in his head. Jorge had convinced him not to go down to Maze the night before and to wait to see his Dad in the morning. Newt had no idea where his Dad had got the money for airfare or accommodation, and the thought worried him in the small hours as he tossed and turned. He and Thomas had barely spoken a word to other. Thomas was tense and silent, the bruises around his face and neck flaring up vividly as the hours went on. Newt wasn’t sure what was wrong between them, but it was something. He felt it in the dark as they lay silently next to each other, both awake and unable to stay still. Newt felt the back of Thomas’s hand rest against his leg at some point as the sun was coming up, but he wasn’t sure whether it was a sign to talk, or for Newt to reach across to him. In the end he left it too long to do anything, and he simply clamped his eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. 

Newt grabbed his bag out of his instinct and made sure it was secure across his back. They hadn’t dared do a run into town in a while, but Jorge and Teresa’s packages kept them going. They would argue about being seen as charity cases, but none of them dared reject them. It was a relief to not have to run and survive the freezing Maze nights, especially now his knee had begun to lock up and cramp after too much use. 

He gave his knee an experimental bend, testing the strength of it. He hissed through his teeth and resigned himself to limping down to Maze. 

“Are you OK?”

Thomas was standing behind him, his brow creased into a frown. A nasty bruise had blossomed over the joint of his neck and his lip had started to swell. His eyes looked gaunt with exhaustion and a shadow of a bruise lingered over his right eyebrow. Newt followed the line of a scratch down the side of his cheek. 

“I’m fine. You look beaten up as ever.”

Thomas gave a flicker of a wry smile.

“It’s a habit.”

Newt looked down at the strap he was nervously tightening on his bag, the silence continuing. 

“You’re limping again.”

“My knee’s playing up.”

Thomas stepped forward with his hands outstretched, as though approaching a wild animal, “Can I look at it?”

“Oh I forgot. The amateur masseuse.”

Newt worried the words sounded crueler than he intended, but Thomas smiled with a dip of his head, “Like I told you, I had to improvise when I used to play baseball.”

Newt ‘hmmed’  in response and limped over the check in desks. From behind desk he he pulled out a small but useful medical kit. 

“Fine. You sort out my knee and I will sort out your face.”

Thomas agreed. Newt sat himself down on one of the luggage belts between two of the desks. Thomas got down on one knee before him and gently, cautiously, placed his hand on Newt’s knee. 

“Still hurting in the same place as before?”

“Yeah.”

Newt snapped open the tupperware box and dug out some antiseptic wipes they’d stolen from a church hall’s first aid box. He took one out and pushed away a few strands of lose hair from Thomas’s hairline. There was a nasty scrape along the skin there, no doubt from when he and Alby slammed each other against the wall. 

Thomas’s fingers dug into the tight muscle around Newt’s kneecap just as he placed the wipe on the open wound. 

“Eesh.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Sorry,” they said at the same time, but neither of them stopped. Thomas massaged the area as gently as he could, and Newt felt some of the tension in his knee drain away. He finished up with the scrape then shook awake one of the instant ice packs. He pressed it against the worst of Thomas’s bruises, the one with an impressive swelling underneath it that broke up the soft line of his cheekbone. Thomas winced but didn’t move away. 

“You got a heat one of those?”

Newt handed him the instant heat pad obediently and Thomas squeezed it until the heat came through. He placed it against the bad side of Newt’s knee and used his fingers on the rest. It took a long moment but eventually the words tumbled out of Newt in one breath. 

“I feel like we’ve had a fight and I don’t know why.”

Thomas let out a long sigh, “I know. Me too. Look, I’m sorry about what happened with Alby. I know he’s your friend and he has been for a long time. I just…I couldn’t listen to him talk like it was your fault. Like you aren’t anything but the glue in this place. It’s me.”

“Tommy-”

“No it’s fine. I arrived, and bad things happen, I get that. But I also know that without me, my father and uncle would have used you all for god knows what for even longer and you may never have known. And I know that I’m not responsible for either of them. I get it though. I get why Alby and the others might hate me.”

“Alby doesn’t hate you. He got angry at the wrong person but that doesn’t mean he hates you. He was just lashing out and you’re an easy target. I don’t think even I realised how much he loves this place. I just thought we were all surviving together but he wanted to build something.”

Thomas lifted Newt’s knee up slightly and moved the heating pad. 

“It must kill him that it’s falling apart.”

“Alby doesn’t really do a lot of anger or fear. Sometimes that means that when it comes to him in a big wave he can’t cope.”

“Well I’m sorry, either way. I want to say that to him. But I felt like I needed to say it to you too.”

Newt laughed, “You don’t need to protect me. I really don’t need you to get into fights for me, either.”

“Newt, we literally met because you decided to fight a load of Grievers for me. I’m allowed to pick fights for you whenever I want, from now until forever.” Thomas removed the heat pack, “There. That should help, a bit. But you need to let me do this a couple of times a day.”

Newt ran a finger along the lump on Thomas’s cheekbone, “This should go down if you keep ice on it.”

“Fine. We’ll do this again later, OK?”

Newt flicked his gaze from Thomas’s eyes down to his lips, and kissed him. It hurt the swelling where Alby’s fist had made an impact, but Thomas just about managed. 

“OK. I really need to go.”

Newt sealed up the first aid box and hid it back in its spot. 

“Do you _want_ to see your Dad?”

Thomas helped Newt up onto both feet and test his knee. 

“No. Not at all. But I need to know how, and why, he’s here.”

“You think he saw you online?”

“No, god know. My Dad doesn’t know how to use a computer.”

Thomas nosed at Newt’s ear, placing a line of kisses right at his temple. 

“Do you want some company?”

 

Mr Randall Newton looked dishevelled when he answered the door to his room at Maze’s Little Stop Inn. But then again Randall Newton always looked dishevelled. Newt looked his Dad up and down slowly, waiting for the recognition to kick in. Randall adjusted his glasses, “Isaac?”

He was the only one that still called Newt by his original name. Even his mother wrote her letters when they were little to ‘Alex and Newt’ 

“Hi Dad.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually be here. A lawyer said he knew who you were but…it really is you.” Randall pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, “What are you _doing_ here?”

“I told you.”

Newt’s father looked around the corridor, the ceiling, anywhere but at his son.

“Yes but…why _here_? I heard you were living in an airport. What on earth are you doing?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here?”

“Yes. Who told you I was here?”

His father pulled his ratty cardigan closer around him. He’d slept in the same things he’d arrived in, and the movement unleashed the smell of travel, unwashed clothes and old books. It was a smell that took Newt right back to their tiny apartment, to the stuffed armchair his dad lived in and the chaotic mess that had been their domestic life.

“Come in,” Randall said distractedly, pulling the door open wider, “Come.”

Newt glanced sideways down the corridor. Thomas, half visible around the corner and waiting patiently, didn’t take his eyes off Newt as he finally conceded and stepped into his father’s room.

 Randall shut the door behind them and rushed to the dresser table where the morning’s paper was spread open. He balled it to one side and cleared a pair of trousers off a chair. Newt didn’t take a seat but instead went to the window. The view was of the back courtyard of the inn, a place he knew well. The courtyard gate was never locked and their bins were easy pickings. 

“I want to know what you’ve been doing all this time. Do you know how upsetting it was to lose you too? First Alex, then you.”

“You didn’t _lose_ Alex, you knew exactly where he was.”

“He wasn’t at home, Isaac.”

“Yes, well, drug addiction isn’t all it’s cracked up to be is it?”

Randall put his hands to his temples and rubbed at the permanent headache he carried with him. 

“Please Isaac, you don’t know how awful this has been. The social workers got involved because I had one son in jail and another who had runaway. You’d done it before, I know, but you ran home that time.”

“You put me in a camp for delinquent kids. What did you expect me to do?”

Randall, suddenly flummoxed, sat down heavily on the narrow single bed. The room was tiny and cut through with low beams, making it claustrophobic even with just two people. It seemed to swallow his skinny father whole, the margarine-coloured walls giving him the sickly pallor of a kidney-failure.  

“Your Mom was worried sick.”

His Dad still said ‘Mom’ the American way. Despite his accent it was Newt’s father who had spent his former years in America, whose birth nationality allowed his sons to gain an American passport. But his years spent in the UK meant his voice was British with American dropping in where it could, and it meant no-one was ever able to identify his place of birth. 

“I told you that I was ok.”

“Via a _postcard_. Anyone could have written that. You could have been kidnapped for all I know.”

“Who would want to kidnap me? And I’m amazed that Mum even knew I was gone. Why did you bother telling her? Not like she’d ever have asked.”

Randall pulled a little at the ends of his own hair in an attempt to get it into a respectable shape. It was painful for Newt to watch: he knew he did the exact same move to make his unruly mop shape up. 

“She loves you and Alex very much. She hasn’t forgotten you.”

“No, just totally moved on. There’s a difference I guess.”

Randall looked up and over his glasses at his son. He gave him another appraising look, top to bottom. 

“You’re so skinny.”

“I was always skinny.”

“But you look older. You look more like your brother.”

Newt tried to suppress the roll of his eyes and the automatic urge to bite the inside of his cheek. He swore the room was starting to heat up, that the air was sliding out through the draughty windy and not coming back in. He could taste the smell of the room like a tacky film on his tongue. 

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. He was worried about you too.”

This time Newt did bite down on his mouth. The memory of the pain shocked him. It was about six months after leaving home that he realised he no longer chewed up his own cheek as a nervous reaction to Alex, or Alex’s name, or anything to do with him. He tasted blood but at least it stopped the smell of the room drowning him. 

“What are you doing here, Dad? I know you don’t watch the news or go online so how did you know where I was?”

Randall suddenly jumped to his feet and grabbed at the gym bag open on the floor. It was Alex’s, Newt noticed, his molars automatically clamping back down on his cheek. It had to be at least 15 years old and in desperate need of throwing out. Randall found what he was looking for and held it out. It was an old exercise book, with clear signs of loose papers stuffed inside. 

“Here. From Alex. He wrote you some letters, just in case you came home. I thought you’d want them.”

“No.”

His father took him by surprise by grabbing his wrist and pressing them under his arm, “Take them. He’d really like to know you got them. He wrote some of them just to talk to you and then some…well, I think it’s like a therapy thing they do for inmates there. Get them to write their thoughts and feelings down, and he said you could have them.”

“I don’t-”

“You know that he gets out next month?”

Newt snatched at the letters so that they didn’t fall then reluctantly shoved them inside the bag on his back. 

“Oh.”

“Yes, the fifteenth. I hope anyway, that’s what his parole officer said. Good behaviour brought it forward, which is great.”

Newt shook his head, “I don’t care, Dad.”

He’d long forgotten Alex’s original release date. 

“And Gemma is out already. They go easier on the girls I guess. Her parents wouldn’t take her back though. Alex told me he’d heard from her a few times, but he doesn’t want to see her when he’s released. His parole office said that’s a good idea, and I agreed, and I think he will do it this time.”

He won’t, Newt thought. Alex was weak for many things in life and a woman who adored him was high on the list. 

“It turned out she was pregnant just before they both went inside. She lost the baby, which I know is awful, but I guess it saved them both a lot of trouble.”

Randall said all of this to a space just left of Newt, his eyes fixed on a point in the corner of the room. He wasn’t big on eye contact, or making small talk, which explained this long stream of consciousness. Randall seemed to have been born to be a professor of obscure literature, and he was never happier than when he was reading the sort of dusty tomes that made even the most dedicated scholar cry. The loss of his job hadn’t stopped him from inhabiting that ‘odd academic’ role. It just added to his general vagueness, his inability to keep things ordered in his head, his total disconnect from what was going on around him. 

“You’re not answering my question.”

“About?”

“How you got here.”

“I thought you’d want to hear about your brother. I know it was…difficult between you two but you’re still brothers. That’s all that matters right?” Randall shrugged mulishly,  “You haven’t even asked about your Mom.”

“Ok fine. How is Mum? Still in England? Still phoning up two weeks _after_ our birthdays? Still going on benders every six months like clockwork?”

Randall blew out through his nose. His sloping shoulders rounded even more and he didn’t look up from the carpet, “You were always so hard on your mother.”

“No,” Newt snapped, taking a step toward, “I just know exactly the sort of person she is. Are you two actually divorced yet? Did you ever ask her about signing the papers? Or is she stringing you on from across the pond, as usual, using your alimony for whatever fun thing she’s found to obsess over? She’s not with you, Dad, I don’t know why you keep letting her drag you along like a dead fish on the line anymore!”

Newt realised he was shouting. He heard a creak in the corridor, perhaps Thomas keeping guard out on the landing, but he couldn’t keep his voice from filling the room and echoing back at himself. 

“You never _do_ anything Dad! I left home and you’ve clearly just spent the time doing exactly what you did before. Shitty research jobs with no money, being at Alex’s beck and call, waiting for Mum to call and throw you a bone, all so that she can dupe you into sending her more money for stuff she can slowly kill herself with. Why I’m here, Dad, is because I couldn’t take it anymore. There are so any problems in your life and I was sick of them killing our family from the inside out.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Randall said, flustered, because this was a man who struggled with conflict. Newt ran his hands through his hair in frustration, trying his best to wrestle his heart rate under control. 

“Why _not_? Shouting doesn’t do anything to you Dad, you might as well be made of stone. You don’t hear people, you don’t hear what they are saying to you even when they are trying to help you. I was trying to help you, I’ve always tried, but I  couldn’t do it anymore. If you couldn’t be the father of the family, it wasn’t my job to step in! You did nothing Dad, as usual, and look where it got us. Alex went back to jail. I ran away. And you just stayed in our little flat and did bugger all because you _never_ do anything.” 

The slap took Newt by such surprise that he didn’t feel the pain until a long moment later. His father stared down at him with the red, bloodshot eyes that showed he’d drank his way through the flying nerves and was feeling the affects. Eyes with an expression that Newt hadn’t had to look back at for years. 

“I’m still your father,” Randall said, his voice low and still managing to sound flustered, “I don’t care what you’ve been doing all this time you were away, but you can’t speak to me like that.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Newt hissed, feeling his feet freeze as his body disagreed over fight or flight, “Finally, you stand up for yourself and all you do is copy Alex. You clearly learnt from the best.”

Newt took a step back and put a hand to his smarting cheek, “If you won’t tell me who got you here then I don’t need to speak to you. Stay here, go home, I don’t care. But whatever happens, I’m not coming with you.”

Thomas only managed to catch up with Newt once he was outside in the back courtyard. He got a hold of Newt’s bag and stopped him, rousing him from the angry wall of white noise that had descended, and pulled him backwards.

“Newt, wait.”

Thomas didn’t have to say it again before Newt had his arms around him, squeezing his shoulders tightly. Thomas untangled his own arms and slid them around Newt’s trembling frame. He squeezed back, Newt’s angry ragged breathing against his neck. 

“What happened?”

“I just want to get back to the airport,” Newt said, finally reigning his breathing back under control, “Let’s go. Please.”

Thomas peeled away from Newt and placed a kiss on his forehead. They headed for the back entrance, the gate that had swung open for them so many times on their runs into town. It was as he was shutting it behind him that Thomas looked behind him and saw a man standing at one of the room window. It had only been a short second he’d seen Randall Newton emerge from his room earlier, but he recognised the face staring down at them with a blank look of shock. 

* * *

 

The boys stopped by Jorge’s house on the way for an update on their situation. They gave Teresa a fright by sneaking over the back fence and into the garden for fear of being seen. She glared at them through the kitchen window then the back door opened with a bang. 

“What the hell are you doing? You gave me a heart attack.”

“We came to see Jorge.”

She flapped the tea towel in her hand towards the kitchen, “Come in, come in.”

They shuffled in, still uneasy about in being an actual house, and Teresa got them a drink, “Is coca cola ok? Here, I’ll get you some ice too. Dad!”

Jorge showed up with his shirt sleeves pushed back and a look of exhaustion on his face. 

“Boys. Everything ok?”

“We wondered how everything was going.”

Jorge poured himself a glass of water and gestured for them to sit at the snug kitchen table fitted neatly into a corner. Teresa helped them push aside her books so they had space for their glasses then resumed her washing up at the sink, though she certainly didn’t stop listening to the conversation. 

“We’ve put forward our case against WCKD and the Greeners. So far the police have charged them with child endangerment and exploitation but apparently the feds have been waiting to make a case against them for a while over their finances. We’ve been allowed some access to what they know, and they in turn know everything we do. They seized all of the computers at the WCKD office here in Maze, as well as some of Alan Greener’s laptops from his home. Your father is denying he knows anything about this Thomas, that your uncle acted on his own, but they’re going to try to find a connection anyway. At the moment I’m trying to work out what is best for your case and your right to stay at the airport.”

“My Dad won’t give up easily. And if he can throw my uncle under the bus all the better.”

“If you know anything about your uncle’s or your father’s dealings that could be useful Thomas, do let me know. If your Dad ever mentioned Maze or anything to do with WCKD, it might be useful.”

“I’ll think,” Thomas promised him, “But Dad wasn’t really keen on discussing work around anyone, even my Mom.”

“Speaking of fathers,” Jorge said as he went to help Teresa with drying the dishes, “How was yours, Newt?”

“Same as always,” Newt said blankly, “What worries me is how he got here. Did he tell you?”

“I assumed he’d seen you online like the others did.”

“No. My Dad doesn’t go online, he can barely use a landline phone. And he doesn’t have any money. Definitely not enough to get a last minute plane ride over here.”

“A relative could have let him know and lent him the money.”

“No. I asked him again and again how he knew I was he just avoided it. My Dad is a crap liar, so he just ignores the question.”

The boys spent about half an hour chatting with Jorge and Teresa. They didn’t ask where Brenda was, and she didn’t make an appearance. Thomas asked where the bathroom was before they left, and Teresa offered to show him the way. It left Newt and Jorge alone in the expansive, warm family kitchen. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy for Teresa and Brenda. This wasn’t the sort of kitchen he’d had at home. 

“How are you feeling, Newt? How is your recovery after the poisoning?”

Newt finished the last of his coke and went to the sink to wash it out, despite Jorge’s protestations. 

“I feel fine.”

“Your friends were right to react as quickly as they could.”

“I know. George didn’t survive.”

“I’ve added his story into the case. Out of everything, I hope they will take that the most seriously.”

“Can they really punish WCKD though, for people in Maze poisoning one of us?”

“If we think they’re liable we’ll make sure they pay.”

Newt placed the glass in the drying rack and absently swirled a hand in the washing up basin, “Does George’s family know?”

“They do now, yes.”

“No-one had told them? We left him…” Newt swallowed heavily, feeling all the pressure that had been lingering pouring back in his chest, “We left him with his name and his date of birth. So they’d be able to find them.”

“It turns out George wasn’t entirely honest with you about his name, or his date of birth. But when the hospital took him in originally and officially declared his death, they just took what you said in your letter as fact. I spoke to a nurse that was there at the time, and she said all she could do was go to the police with what she knew. They said they would look for his next of kin but didn’t find any. They presumed a runaway kid perhaps didn’t have any. George had no other form of ID on him and whilst they took fingerprints, for some reason they never actually ran them through the system. It would have brought him up straight away if they had. His real name was James George Pearson and he’d been in trouble with the police. In fact they had been looking for him when he ran away, for a burglary.”

Newt tried to hide his sniff in the clatter of Thomas’s glass that he was now cleaning. 

“How did they find it out?”

“A coincidence. There was a police mix up and they wanted to run some prints for a murder, but they ran the wrong James Pearson file in the system. The picture that came up wasn’t anything like the one they were looking for, and when they realised their mistake they also realised they had just properly identified a dead boy from the hospital.”

“So his family know now?”

“The police told them, yes. I’ll have to get in touch with them for statement for the case.” 

Newt rubbed his hands across his face, “Thanks for telling me. I’ll tell the others.”

Thomas reappeared, and whilst he didn’t like the look of Newt’s expression he didn’t say anything. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Jorge insisted that they could go out the front of the house now that the press had stopped bothering him, so he showed them to the door. 

“Where’s Teresa?”

“She went up to her room, she said she’d see us soon.”

Newt knew that tone in Thomas’s voice, the shifty quality that made it clear he was lying, but left it alone as they said goodbye to Jorge. 

Once they’d made it to the end of Jorge’s street Thomas pulled Newt aside. He looked excited, underlaid with nerves. 

“I have a birthday present for you. A belated one.”

“How did you know it was my birthday? I told them not to tell you.”

“And we’ll get to why you thought that was a good idea in a minute, but Gally told me. He didn’t mean to. He wants me to make sure you know that. I was trying to think of something to give you and then look what I found in Jorge’s study.”

“What were you doing in there?!”

“Just having a look at what he had on my Dad. I was interested.”

“You can’t go snooping in his study.”

“It doesn’t matter, because I found something.”

Thomas pulled a wallet out of his pocket. 

“Did you steal his wallet?”

“No, this is _mine_. Teresa found me in her Dad’s study and said she saw it in the lost and found at the church hall. I brought a wallet with me when I ran away. It’s not got much in it, just a fake ID and some Taco Bell loyalty cards. It had a bank card in it too with my name on it, which was how Teresa knew it was mine, but it didn’t have any money on it. Dad was quick to cancel my credit cards. But I found something of my Mom’s in here; her Rest Stop Express loyalty card.”

Newt peered at the card’s name, Mrs Laila Greener. 

“And?” 

“Theresa phoned up pretending to be my Mom and they told her she had enough points for a night in one a Rest Stop Express location. There’s one here, in Maze.”

Thomas nervously twirled the card in his hand whilst Newt’s stared at him silently. 

“I thought we could go. Reserve a room.”

Newt blinked back at him dumbly, so Thomas changed tact. He jammed the card into his pocket and went to hold Newt’s hands instead.   

“We can have a nice night together. And sleep in a proper bed, in a real room, and not in a hammock with fifteen other guys.”

“But…when?”

“Whenever. When this has all blown over, or now or…whenever you want to.”

Newt looked down at their hands together between them. He finally got the words together to say, “Tommy, you are so weird.”

Thomas opened his mouth then closed it, on the edge of crestfallen.  

“I love it,” Newt said, squeezing his hands, “But not right now.”

Thomas closed his eyes and nodded his head, “Right. No, I get it.”

“But the minute we can…” Newt ran his hand up the back of Thomas’s neck and scratched at the base of his skull, digging his fingernails enough to see Thomas’s eyes flicker, “I can’t wait to see you naked in a hotel bed.”

They made out on the street until the feeling in their fingers were gone, until the only part of them warm enough was their lips and necks. 

“We have to get back or we’re going to freeze to death.”

“My knee is killing me.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Thomas wasn’t. They staggered back up to the airport in an awkward bundle, Newt on Thomas’s back and laughing into the hollow of Thomas’s neck, squawking when he was dropped and hitting him on the ribs when he tried to run too fast. Thomas’s chest bellowed with laughter and exhaustion, and he called Newt all manner of names as he piggy-backed him all the way up the hill out of town, until they finally got within view of Gally’s well-defended boundary. Thomas affected collapsing to the floor with exhaustion and Newt toed him with his shoe, trying to stifle his laughter in his sleeves.

You're an idiot, he told him, crouched on the floor with his hands flat on Thomas's his chest. I love you Tommy, he said, breathless and hot and cold. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback from you lovely people would be amazing!


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